UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

H.   E.   Miller 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


SIMON  CALLED  PETER 

"With  a  ruthless  plainness,  an  almost  bitter  lack 
of  false  sentiment,  and  a  truthfulness  that  is,  at 
times,  quite  literally  stark,  Mr.  Keable  sets  out  this 
soul-Odyssey.  It  is  a  human  and  humanizing  experi- 
ence."— The  Sketch. 

"A  novel  of  real  distinction." — Boston  Herald. 

"Very  well  written,  in  a  clear  and  vigorous  style." — 
The  New  York  Times. 

"A  queer  jumble  of  heaven  and  hell.  The  novel  is 
tremendously  human  and  shows  great  literary  power." 
— The  Dundee  Advertiser, 

"In  spite  of  the  candour  with  which  some  of  the 
love  scenes  are  described,  the  book  is  by  no  means 
gross,  and  the  story  is  very  well  told  and  extremely 
interesting." — Truth. 


E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY. 


THE 

MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

A  NOFEL  OF  AFRICA 


BY 

ROBERT  KEABLE 

AUTHOR  OF  "SIMON  CALLED  PETER,"   "STANDING  BY,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

E.  P.  BUTTON  fcf  COMPANY 
681  FIFTH  AVENUE 


COPYRIGHT,    1922, 

BY  E.  P.  DUTTON  tc  COMPANY 
All  Rights  Reserved 


First      printing February,  1022 

Second  "        August.  1922 

Third  "        "        1922 

Fourth  "        "        IQ22 

Fifth  "        "       1922 

Sixth  "        "        1922 

Seventh     "        M       1922 

Eighth  "        "        1922 

Ninth  "        "       1922 


Printed  In  the  Unite!  States  of  America 


U 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

;THERE  has  not  appeared  to  me  to  be  any  necessity  to  dis- 
guise in  this  book  the  names  of  many  of  those  places  about 
which  this  story  centres  and  whose  very  real  beauty  I  have 
endeavoured  as  faithfully  as  possible  to  describe;  but  in 
this  (matter  I  "have  reserved  to  myself  a  certain  liberty.  Thus 
a  reader  may  pick  out  the  Umtamvuna  on  the  map,  and,  if 
the  river  gods  be  propitious,  may  go  a-spearing  the  mullet 
in  its  waters,  but  I  do  not  guarantee  that  he  will  find  Pamela 
Urfurd's  cave  a  few  miles  from  its  mouth.  It  therefore, 
however,  becomes  necessary  for  me  to  insist  that  the  prin- 
cipals of  the  story — Cecil  and  Hugh,  Pamela  and  Chris- 
are  entirely  fictitious.  I  will  not  deny  that  a  reader  wight 
hit  on  'Springfontein'  farm  (and  be  as  lucky  in  that  event 
as  I  was),  but  I  do  assert  that  he  would  not  meet  the  Sin- 
clairs  there — or  anywhere. 

When,  nevertheless,  the  'Mallorys'  and  the  'magistrate 
and  his  wife*  I  have  placed  at  Butha-Buthe  discover  their 
houses  in  this  book,  and  when  the  latter  recognise  some  of 
the  features  of  that  lovely  mountain  trail  we  once  took 
together,  I  trust  they  will  understand  that  I  have  so  written 
because  I  can  recall  neither  Qacha's  Nek  nor  Butha-Buthe 
without  remembering  them  with  the  utmost  gratitude  and 
affection.  They  luwe  cheered  so  many  of  my  days  that1 
perhaps  they  will  permit  me  to  offer  them  this  book  in  an 
attempt  to  beguile  some  idle  hour. 

R.  K. 


*  4070; 

a 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 

YAGB 

IE  CHILD      i.    .....     .     .    M    ,.-    IT    ir    „•   m   K       i 

PART  II 
THE  WIFE   ,..,    ......    «   „    „   w    lf   „    JOT 


m   „-   241 


PART  I 
THE   CHILD 


THE 
MOTHER   OF  ALL  LIVING 


CHAPTER  I 

CECIL  had  hardly  spoken  for  the  last  fifteen  miles.  At 
first,  on  leaving  Durban,  she  had  been  gay  enough,  and 
her  father  had  been  amused  at  her  questions  and  vivacity. 
She  had  laughed  at  that  city's  greatest  shops  with  the  inso- 
lence of  a  Londoner,  and  it  tickled  him  to  remember  how, 
six  years  before,  she  had  hardly  dared  to  enter  them  alone. 
Also,  he  reflected,  in  six  months  or  so  they  would  be  marvels 
again,  but  for  the  time  being  he  kept  that  reflection  to  him- 
self. She  had  been  enraptured  by  the  masses  of  colour  in  the 
Berea — the  purple  of  bougainvillea,  the  scarlet  of  flamboy- 
ants and  the  delicate  blue  of  plumbago.  Six  years  ago  she 
had  not  had  a  second  glance  for  them.  And  farther  out  she 
had  acclaimed  the  glimpses  of  the  sparkling  blue  ocean  seen 
through  the  clearings  of  the  thick-set  bush,  taken  in  eagerly 
the  details  of  the  little  coast  towns,  and  gone  into  raptures  of 
mingled  mirth  and  enjoyment  over  the  corrugated  iron  villas 
draped  in  creepers  and  bowered  in  trees  that  stood  back  from 
the  beach.  Even  he,  accustomed  to  it  all,  had  enjoyed  the 
glory  of  the  morning,  with  the  great  sun  blazing  over-head 
and  the  car  humming  smoothly  beneath  them.  The  air  was 
fresh,  the  sea-breeze  strong,  and  South  Africa  at  her  best. 

But  Cecil  had  gradually  grown  quiet.  Her  father  found 
himself  doing  all  the  talking  and  discovered  that  his  daughter 
had  now  no  more  than  monosyllables  in  which  to  reply.  He 
had  glanced  at  her  and  queried :  "Bit  tired,  dear  ?"  but  she 

3! 


4  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

had  looked  quickly  at  him  and  exclaimed :  "Oh  no !  I  wish 
this  might  go  on  for  ever,"  and  something  in  her  face  made 
him  smile  secretly  and  look  away.  Even  in  the  Club  'Jim' 
Eldred  grumbled  at  Africa  less  than  most,  and  he  knew  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  how  much  he  loved  her.  He  was  watching, 
now,  the  weaving  of  the  spell  over  his  daughter.  For  six 
years  she  had  been  in  England,  at  a  select  and  irreproach- 
able school.  His  wife  had  selected  it,  and  he  had  agreed 
because  he  supposed  that  she,  and  not  he,  'must  have  the  say 
in  such  a  matter ;  but  he  had  never  liked  the  school.  Secretly 
he  had  wondered  what  effect  it  would  have  on  Cecil,  girl  of 
thirteen  as  she  had  been  then,  keen,  eager,  brown  as  a  berry, 
and  -half  a  savage  as  his  wife  used  to  protest.  He  had 
quieted  his  misgivings  with  the  thought  that  he  knew  his 
daughter  even  better  than  her  mother  did,  and  that  the  school 
could  not,  after  all,  entirely  cabin  her. 

Perhaps  he  had  not  realised,  however,  how  much  he  had 
come  to  count  on  this  return  that  the  war  had  delayed  over 
long.  At  the  docks,  he  had  hardly  known  her^  and  she  had 
been  shy  with  him.  In  the  hotel,  she  had  got  over  that,  but 
she  was  plainly  far  removed  from  the  colonial  girl  of  the  old 
days,  and  curiously  enough,  for  all  her  long  skirts  and  fash- 
ionably-dressed hair  and  grown-up  ways,  she  seemed 
younger.  But  now  they  were  really  in  Africa,  leaving  the 
civilised  air  of  Durban  far  behind,  throwing  off  even  the 
clinging  townships  of  the  South  Coast,  hurrying  ever  nearer 
the  blue-piled  mountains  on  the  far  horizon,  glimpsing,  here 
and  there,  the  huts  of  the  natives,  and  skirting  tracts  of  un- 
tamed bush.  And,  sure  enough,  the  spell  was  settling  on 
Cecil. 

As  for  the  girl  herself,  she  could  not  have  put  it  into 
words.  In  England,  she  had  always  been  the  colonial,  and 
her  friends  had  envied  her  tales  of  the  free  life  out  there. 
She  had  seemed  an  African  to  them  and  had  known  herself 
very  far  from  English.  She  could  even  remember  how,  on 
first  coming,  she  had  hated  the  perpetually  green  grass  and 
longed  for  the  brown  veld,  and  felt  imprisoned  in  the  endless 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  5 

streets,  and  out  of  place  in  drawing-rooms.  The  remem- 
brance that  she  had  once  felt  so  had  long  remained,  but  the 
strangeness  of  her  new  environment  had  naturally  worn  off. 
Now  what  had  been  a  romantic  story  in  which  she  had 
played  a  dream  part  was  unfolding  itself  again  before  her 
eyes,  and  her  heart  was  crying  to  her  that  this  was  her  home. 

But  that  was  not  quite  all.  There  was  another  message  in 
the  reeling  miles.  Sometimes  they  spun  through  the  thick 
forests  of  wattle  plantations,  the  trees  gleaming  silver  in  the 
sun  that  filtered  between  their  leaves,  and  she  took  in  every 
detail — the  piled  logs  in  the  clearings,  the  stripped  bark 
arranged  in  long  rows  to  dry,  the  acres  of  young  trees,  and 
the  burnt  patches  of  old  ones.  But  there  lurked  a  mystery, 
it  seemed  to  her,  in  those  lonely  plantations.  Or  again  they 
climbed  out  on  to  the  hills  of  a  native  reserve,  and  she  looked 
out  over  the  undulating  veld,  the  rounded  kopjes  and  the 
deep-cut  valleys.  Little  patches  of  unfenced  cultivation 
clung  to  the  sides  of  them,  and  on  the  crests  clustered  the 
brown  thatched  huts  silent  and  deserted  in  the  sun.  She 
wanted  to  get  out  and  look  in.  At  school,  the  girls  had 
listened  entranced  to  her  casual  references  to  'boys'  and 
black  folk,  but  back  here  the  fact  that  she  was  living  among 
an  alien  race  who  set  her  standard  of  conventionalities  at 
defiance,  suddenly  confronted  her  as  a  new  thing. 

Once,  at  a  turn  of  the  way,  they  had  come  on  a  group  of 
three  Zulus,  two  girls  and  a  man,  who  were  talking  at  the 
edge  of  a  plantation.  She  had  stared,  and  turned  her  head 
to  look  as  they  passed,  and  then  glanced,  half  ashamed,  at 
her  father,  who  apparently  had  not  seen  anything  more 
unusual  than  he  would  have  seen  if  three  beasts  had  been  by 
the  side  of  the  road.  But  she  had  taken  in  the  strong  lithe 
grace  of  the  man  as  he  stood  there,  naked  except  for  his  loin- 
cloth, posed  for  a  sculptor,  with  his  sticks  in  his  hand.  The 
sun  glistened  on  the  shining  black  back  and  the  gleaming 
muscles.  And  the  girls — one  had  a  pot  balanced  on  her  head 
and  wore  only  a  grass  girdle  and  some  beads.  She  had  big 
firm  breasts  and  thick  well-oiled  thighs,  and  had  been  laugh- 


6  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

ing,  white  teeth  shining  and  her  strange  face  radiant.  The 
other,  in  a  dirty  blanket,  leaned  on  a  log  that  she  was  plainly 
bearing  home,  and  looked  sullen.  Cecil  had  a  sudden  sense 
of  fear,  gone  in  a  moment,  but  real  enough.  But  it  was  not 
that  she  feared  the  savages ;  it  was  that  she  realised  that  she 
was  looking  on  life,  naked  and  unashamed,  and  that  she  felt 
suddenly  that  school  had  taught  her  less  than  she  would  have 
learned  if  she  had  stayed  at  Elandskop. 

The  car  purred  to  the  top  of  a  little  hill  and  her  father 
slowed  to  a  standstill.  "There,"  he  said,  "let's  get  out  that 
thermos  and  see  what  the  Royal  has  done  in  the  sandwich 
line.  There's  no  finer  place  for  lunch  on  all  the  road.  Do 
you  remember  any  of  this,  Cecil  ?" 

The  girl  looked  round,  and  her  gaze  rested  seawards. 
"Isn't  Port  Shepstone  down  there,  dad?"  she  enquired 
eagerly. 

"Right!  So  you  haven't  forgotten  in  all  these  years,  my 
dear.  Yes,  that's  Shepstone,  in  among  the  trees — you  can 
see  the  lighthouse.  Harding's  away  yonder,  to  the  right  of 
that  big  mountain  from  here,  and  that's  the  Ingeli  range. 
We  follow  the  coast  more  or  less.  Those  peaks  right  ahead 
are  in  Pondoland,  and  somewhere  this  side  of  them  is  the 
Umtamvuna.  That  river  below  us  is  the  Umzimkulu. 
There's  no  view  better  than  this  all  the  way.  Are  you  glad 
to  see  it  again?" 

Cecil  did  not  reply  at  once.  She  sat  back  and  drank  in  the 
surpassing  beauty  of  the  sun-drenched  panorama,  following 
the  ragged  green  line  of  the  coast  with  its  white  fringe 
where  the  breakers  of  the  Indian  Ocean  rolled  in  from  the 
vast  unbroken  world  of  sea  that  stretched  immense  before 
her,  allowing  her  eyes  to  roam  over  the  folds  of  the  hills  that 
stretched  inland  to  the  feet  of  the  grey  mountains  far  away 
about  whose  summits  clung  soft  clouds,  and  drinking  in  the 
fresh,  dry,  cool  air  that  seemed  its  very  self  to  gleam  in  the 
sun  about  her.  Then  she  turned  and  looked  at  him.  "Oh, 
dad,"  she  cried  on  an  impulse,  "why  did  you  send  me  away  ?" 

He  laughed.    "Well,  Ces/'  he  said,  "someone  had  to  teach 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  7 

you  how  to  be  a  lady  and  there  was  no  one  here  to  do  it. 
Your  mother  was  determined  that  you  should  not  grow  up  a 
savage,  and  she  was  quite  right.  But  I'm  glad  you  take  to 
all  this  again,  for  I  want  you  to  love  Africa." 

Cecil  nodded  sagely.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "I'd  have  grown  up 
differently  here,  dad,  but  somehow  or  another  it  makes  me 
wonder  if  I've  really  learned  the  right  things."  She  paused, 
suddenly  discovering  that  it  was  not  easy  to  talk  to  him. 

He  seemed  wholly  unaware.  "You've  seen  a  bit  of  the 
world,  too,"  he  said,  "and  that's  all  to  the  good.  I  want  you 
to  feel  that  South  Africa  is  your  mother-land,  Cecil,  but  I 
want  you  to  realise  that  England  is  away  there  too,  very  old 
and  wise  and  rich  and  strong,  Cecil.  It's  good  to  love  the 
home,  but  one  ought  to  know  and  respect  the  family,  my 
girl.  It's  a  pity  there  are  not  more  young  people  about  here 
who  realise  that." 

Cecil  heard  him  vaguely.  She  was  suddenly  aware  that 
they  were  talking  of  different  things,  and  it  irritated  her. 
"I  didn't  see  half  enough,"  she  said.  "They  kept  us  in  cot- 
tonwool at  that  old  school.  We  used  to  be  taken  to  see 
Shakespeare's  plays  and  a  panto  at  Christmas,  and  when  we 
were  in  town  Miss  Alice  always  insisted  on  our  going  some- 
where 'instructive'  too — to  St.  Paul's,  or  Westminster  or  the 
National  Gallery.  But  you  can't  see  things  with  a  mistress 
behind  you,  dad.  I  did  long  so  much  for  you  to  have  been 
there,  and  that  we  might  have  gone  to  an  hotel  in  town  for  a 
bit  and  pried  round  together.  Miss  Alice  always  watched  us 
like  a  cat.  She  was  very  nice,  of  course,  but  I  did  so  hate  her 
old  statues  and  churches.  I  never  could  remember  which 
was  which.  I  liked  it  best  when  we  went  to  Liberty's  or 
Self  ridge's  to  buy  Christmas  presents.  I  got  lost  in  Sel- 
f ridge's  once,  dad,"  and  she  laughed  at  the  recollection. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Eldred,  amused. 

"Oh  it  was  in  the  model  houses.  They  were  great  fun — 
like  a  maze.  Steph  was  with  me — you  know  Stephanie, 
Colonel  Haverill's  daughter,  my  great  pal,  oh!  you  would 
love  her,  daddy, — and  suddenly  we  found  we  were  lost. 


8  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

We'd  gone  in  at  the  £100  house  and  now  we'd  got  to  the 
£2,000  or  something  like  that,  and  we  hadn't  an  idea  where 
Miss  Alice  was.  Well,  Steph  said,  'Let's  go  and  see  the 
evening-dresses:  then  we  can  come  back  and  no  one  will 
know  where  we've  been,'  so  we  went  off  to  try  and  find  them. 
But  of  course  we  couldn't.  Instead,  after  pushing  through 
thousands  of  people,  we  found  the  tea-room,  and  Steph  said, 
'Oh  what  fun,  let's  have  tea !'  So  we  sat  down  at  a  table  and 
she  ordered  tea — she  knew  just  what  to  do — and  we  ate  no 
end  of  chocolate  buns  and  things.  And  then  came  the  awful 
thing.  Steph  got  out  her  purse  to  pay,  and  she  hadn't  got 
enough.  She  was  sixpence  short.  I  hadn't  a  sou — I'd  spent 
all  my  money.  Steph  went  as  white  as  the  table-cloth,  and  I 
wanted  to  die.  It  was  awful,  dad.  And  then,  what  d'you 
think  happened?  An  awfully  nice  man  at  the  next  table 
leant  over  and  said  to  Steph :  'Excuse  me,  but  I  see  what's 
happened.  I  was  once  in  the  same  boat  myself.  Do  let  me 
lend  you  sixpence.'  " 

She  stopped  for  breath.  "Yes,"  said  Eldred,  "and  what 
then?" 

"Oh,  we  said  we  couldn't  take  it,  but  of  course  we  had  to. 
And  then  he  came  out  with  us,  and  we  told  him  about  Miss 
Alice  and  how  we'd  lost  her,  and  he  took  us  back  to  the  £100 
house  and  there  we  saw  Miss  Alice,  looking  awfully  worried. 
He  was  awfully  nice  and  said  he'd  slip  off  so  that  we  needn't 
tell  about  the  tea,  and  he  did,  and  we  just  said  we'd  been  lost. 
But  it  -was  fun  while  it  lasted,  and  I  wished  we  could  have 
seen  the  gentleman  again." 

Eldred  laughed.  He  was  conscious  of  a  shade  of  relief — 
for  all  that  she  was  nineteen,  she  was  still  only  a  girl.  Then 
he  glanced  at  his  watch.  "Well,  if  you've  finished,  I  reckon 
we'd  best  get  on.  We've  still  forty  miles  or  so  to  do.  In 
this  clear  air,  it  doesn't  look  very  far  to  those  mountains,  but 
we've  got  to  go  up  hill  and  down  dale  and  the  road  at  the  end 
is  a  bit  of  a  teaser.  What  do  you  say?" 

"Oh  I've  finished,  dad,"  she  said.  "And  I'm  longing  to  get 
home  and  see  mother.  Do  let's  get  on." 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  9 

Eldred  cranked  up  and  they  sped  off.  Cecil  relapsed  again 
into  silence,  but  this  time  for  other  reasons.  She  was  think- 
ing of  the  school  and  the  friends  she  had  left,  and,  truth  to 
tell,  feeling  suddenly  a  bit  homesick.  This  would  be  lovely, 
if  Steph  were  here,  Steph  who  was  staying  on  another  year 
and  would  be  captain  of  hockey  in  her  place.  She  visualised 
their  little  study,  and  the  playing  field  with  its  sweet  scent  of 
new-cut  grass  and  its  deep-shadowed  elms.  Africa  seemed 
foreign  all  at  once,  and  then  the  road  dipped  and  ran  down 
to  a  spruit  and  they  came  suddenly  upon  a  straining  team  of 
fourteen  span  of  oxen,  and  a  Kaffir  with  a  huge  whip,  and  a 
white  man  in  coarse  collarless  shirt  and  trousers,  who  cursed 
him  in  ugly  language.  Her  father  put  on  the  brakes  and  they 
waited  to  allow  the  wagon  to  get  clear,  and  Cecil  watched 
while  the  patient  beasts  under  the  yoke  started  to  one  side  at 
the  lash,  the  span  of  them  writhing  like  a  snake  and  then 
straining  at  the  heavy  weight.  The  white  man  ran  forward 
and  crashed  a  stick  on  the  bony  hind-quarters  of  the  nearer 
ox,  and  the  brute  backed  heavily,  twisting  its  head,  with  its 
big  dewy  eyes.  "Oh !"  gasped  the  girl  involuntarily,  but  her 
father  took  it  coolly  enough,  speeding  up  the  moment  he  was 
able  and  calling  a  greeting  to  the  man  who  stood  staring  at 
her  brazenly  she  thought.  They  were  past  and  away  in  a 
moment,  but  she  was  conscious  of  a  tingling  in  her  blood, 
though  why  she  had  not  an  idea.  But  she  thought  again  of 
the  suave  folk  in  the  drawing-rooms  of  "The  Lindens,"  and 
smiled  involuntarily.  If  they  could  see  her  now ! 

An  hour  later  they  raced  through  a  thinning  wattle- 
plantation  and  out  on  to  a  level  stretch  of  road  high  up  on 
the  sloping  back  of  the  veld.  Her  father,  holding  the  wheel 
easily,  turned  to  her.  "There,  Ces,"  he  said,  "you  can  see 
Elandskop  now." 

"Oh  where?"  she  exclaimed,  leaning  forward,  and  then: 
"Oh  I  see.  Oh,  dad!" 

It  was  still  some  miles  away,  but  it  lay  in  miniature  below 
her,  and  recollections  flooded  back  upon  her  mind.  She  had 
known  no  other  home.  'Jim'  Eldred  had  obtained  the 


io  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

concession  when  it  was  bare  veld  and  bush,  and  the  wagon 
that  brought  him  had  plumped  down  his-  few  good^and  his 
two  boys  and  gone  off  leaving  him  absolutely  alone.  That 
first  night  he  had  grouped  the  boxes  into  a  square  and  cov- 
ered them  with  a  sail-doth  for  a  tent.  Cecil  knew  the  story, 
and  the  exact  spot,  for  Eldred  had  made  a  rose-garden  of  it, 
with  great  circling  bushes  of  trees  growing  in  turf  and  en- 
closing a  central  open  space  with  a  sun-dial.  Bit  by  bit  he 
had  cleared  land  and  built  the  homestead,  adding  room  to 
room.  If  was  long  and  thatched,  and  Cecil  could  remember 
the  extensions  and  improvements — the  making  of  the  tenrtis- 
court)  the  birflcling  qf  barns  and  stables,  the  taking-in  of  new 
lands.  She  shared  her  father's  love  of  and  pride  in  the 
place,  and  in  a  way  it  meant  more  to  her  than  an  ancestral 
home  often  means  to  an  Englishman.  She  had  envied  her 
brother  Harbld  the  inheritance  that  would  be  his,  and  now, 
as  she  saw  it  again,  the  old  love  and  pride  surged  up  in  her. 
There  was  the  house,  standing  above  the  little  stream  in-  its 
rocky  bed,  with  the  great  bluff  thickly  sown  with  palms  and 
wild  bananas  and  bush  which  had  been  left  in  its  untafoed 
glory,  a  home  of  a  tribe  of  monkeys,  rising  from  the  sea 
across,  the  Stream.  North  of  the  homestead,  a  break-wind 
of  Madagascar  pines  sang  always  in  the  breeze,  and  from  it 
sloped  the  open  veld  below  the  garden  to  the  fringe  of  bush 
above  the  shore,  not  three  minutes'  walk  from  their  gate, 
with  the  sand  and  rocks  and  limitless  sea  beyond.  Far  in- 
land, sheltered  in  folds  of  the  country-side,  were  the  mealie- 
lands,  and  for  miles  northward  stretched  the  pastures  of  her 
father's  herds.  Once  out  of  the  gardens,  not  a  fence  ringed 
them  in  for  miles.  One  could  mount  and  gallop  away 
parallel  to  the  sea,  with  the  wind  whistling  by  and  the  cease- 
less thunder  of  the  surf  for  ever  in  one's  ears. 

"How  the  pines  have  gsown,  dad,"  she  exclaimed,  as  the 
car  moved  on,  and  then  a  djp  in  the  road  hid  the  view. 

"Why,  yfca,  they  were  only  a  few  feet  high  when  you  left, 
Ces,  weren't  they?  Do  you  remember  our  planting  mem,  the 
year  after  the  locusts  cleared  us  out?  We  haven't  had 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  11 

locusts  since,"  he  added,  "thanks  to  the  Government  meas- 
ures that  the  old  fossils  grumbled  about.  And  the  cattle  are 
fine  this  year,  my  girl.  Why,  of  course,  you  haven't  seen  the 
Hereford  bull  yet — by  Jfcve,  he'll  please  you.**  And  then,  as 
they  swung  off  the  main  road  on  to  a  much  rougher  track, 
"Do  you  remember  the  turn?  We're  on  our  own  lands 
now." 

"Rather,  dad,"  cried  the  girl  excitedly,  "and  look,  isn't 
that  old  Jacob?  He  hasn't  changed  a  bit.  Lumela*  Jacob," 
she  called  gaily,  "how  are  you  ?" 

The  Mosuto  herdsman,  who  had  been  with  Eldred  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century,  grinned  all  over  his  face  as  the  car  swept  by. 
"Lumela,  Missus,"  he  shouted  back,  "how's  Missus?" 

"Oh  dad,"  cried  Cecil,  "it's  all  coming  back  to  me.  Do  you 
know  I'd  almost  forgotten  Jacob  till  I  saw  him  then;  and  I 
haven't  said  Lumela  for  six  years.  I  didn't  know  I  remem- 
bered it.  But  I've  forgotten  mostly  all  my  Kaffir." 

"It'll  come  back,  Ces,"  said  her  father.  "Why  you  talked 
Kaffir  before  you  talked  English.  I  can  see  you  now,  a  little 
brat  in  a  thethana,^  with  old  Emily  as  proud  of  you  as  if 
you'd  been  one  of  her  own  kids.  She's  dead,  you  know,"  he 
added.  "Died  in  the  Flu,  that  cleared  off  so  many  old  faces. 
But  I'm  glad  it  spared  Jacob." 

"So  am  I,"  said  Cecil.  "I  must  make  him  show  me  the 
farm  again — he'll  love  it.  Do  you  remember  how  he  used 
to  gather  amatungulu  $  for  me  when  I  was  a  kid,  and  how  he 
taught  me  to  spear  fish,  too,  dad,  and  to  ride?  Oh  I  hope  I 
haven't  forgotten  that !  Is  Semena  alive  ?" 

"He's  alive,  but  he's  a  pensioner,  Ces.  You  can  get  on  his 
back  if  you  like,  but  you  mustn't  use  him  much.  Still  I'll 
have  him  groomed  up,  and  I  daresay  he'll  do  you  round  the 
pla"ce.  You'll  like  to  have  him,  for  old  acquaintance'  sake. 
But  I've  got  you  a  new  pony,  dear,  a  beauty ;  got  him  up  in 
Kokstad  last  Show ;  and  I've  kept  him  for  you." 

*  Lumela  (Scsuto),  a  familiar  greeting  =  Good-morning. 

t  Thethana  (Sesuto),  a  girl's  narrow  fringe  worn  as  a  petticoat 

t  Anwtungulu  (Zulu),  native  wild  fruit  like  a  small  plum. 


12  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"Oh,  dad,  you  darling.  I  shall  love  to  see  him.  Oh,  but 
we're  home  now !  Oh  look,  dad,  there's  mother  waving  on 
the  stoep !"  And  Cecil  lapsed  into  sudden  silence. 

The  car  turned  in  at  a  gate,  held  open  by  a  grinning  boy  in 
a  shirt  and  loin-cloth,  new  to  Cecil,  and  indeed  only  a  couple 
of  years  or  so  on  the  farm.  But  already  she  was  his 
"missy,"  and  he  almost  as  eager  to  see  her  as  old  Jacob  had 
been.  They  crept  across  the  wide  space  where  the  cattle 
gathered  at  night,  flanked  with  barns  and  stables;  swung 
round  the  belt  of  the  pines ;  ran  along  a  hedge  of  aloe,  and 
up  a  drive  to  the  creeper-covered  stoep.  Mrs.  Eldred  saw 
the  car  stop  and  her  daughter  rush  towards  her,  but  could 
hardly  realise  that  the  tall  well-set  woman  was  her  little 
Cecil.  But  in  a  moment,  arms  about  her  neck  and  kisses 
showered  upon  her,  told  their  own  story.  Her  own  daughter 
was  home  again. 

In  a  buzz  of  talk  the  family  entered  the  sitting-room. 
Gwen,  three  years  her  sister's  junior,  could  not  contain  her 
excitement.  "Let's  see  her,  mother,"  she  cried.  "Make  her 
stand  up  and  let's  look  at  her.  Oh,  Ces,  where  did  you  get 
that  dress  ?  Have  you  many  like  that  ?  Oh  I  do  wish  I  had 
been  to  London !" 

"Yes,  look  at  her,  mother,"  said  Eldred.  "I  hardly  knew 
her  on  the  Balmoral  Castle.  That's  what  The  Lindens'  has 
done!" 

Laughing  and  blushing,  Cecil  stood  away  from  them  all 
and  glanced  down  at  herself.  Her  mother  took  in  the 
shapely  figure,  the  jet  black  hair  she  knew  so  well,  but  done 
up  so  sedately  now,  and  the  English  look  of  the  fashionable 
sports-coat  and  skirt.  "Oh  but  she  is  still  my  Ces!"  she 
cried. 

"I  think  Leonard's  grown  the  most,"  said  Cecil.  "I 
honestly  don't  think  I'd  have  known  him  if  we  had  met  in 
Croydon.  You  look  so  much  more  grown-up,"  she  added, 
"than  English  boys  of  eighteen." 

A  servant  girl  brought  in  tea,  dropping  a  funny  half- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  13 

curtsey  to  her  new  young  mistress.  "Who's  that?"  de- 
manded Cecil,  when  she  had  gone  out.  "She  looks  white." 

"Who?"  queried  her  mother.  "Oh,  Fanny — why,  of 
course,  you  don't  know  her.  She's  half  white,  but  her 
mother  was  a  Griqua.  She's  been  with  us  some  time.  The 
years  have  flown,  Cecil,  in  a  way,  but  you'll  find  we  haven't 
changed  much,  perhaps.  I  hope  you  won't  find  us  all  very 
slow,  dear,  after  England.  There  are  no  shops  here,  and 
no  theatres  and  no  libraries, — at  least  not  nearer  than  Dur- 
ban," she  added. 

"Rubbish,  mother,"  laughed  Cecil.  "Isn't  the  store  still 
here  ?  I  must  go  to-morrow  and  see  Mr.  Shenk.  But  you're 
right  in  a  way.  I  think  I  shall  have  to  learn  to  know  you 
all  again." 

Her  mother  caught  her  hand.  "No,  no,  no,  Cecil,"  she 
cried.  "We  haven't  changed  that  much,  dearest,  and 
mothers  don't  change,  my  darling.  Kiss  me  again  and  then 
let's  have  tea.  If  only  Harold  were  here,  that  we  might 
be  a  complete  party.  Last  mail  he  sent  more  photographs 
of  his  Rhodesian  farm  which  you'll  like  to  see."  And  Mrs. 
Eldred  sighed  a  little,  though  Cecil  did  not  notice  it  par- 
ticularly. 

There  was  time,  afterwards,  for  an  inspection  of  the 
place,  and  they  went  round  together.  To  Cecil,  things 
seemed  smaller  than  she  had  imagined  them,  and  she  caught 
herself  allowing  her  eyes  to  rove  round  the  rooms  with  a 
smile.  The  stained  boards,  the  home-made  windows, 
steamer  chairs,  skins,  karosses,  horns — all  the  common  fur- 
nishings of  a  South  African  homestead,  seemed  curiously 
rough  to  her  now,  and  yet  very  homely.  There  was  the 
old  cuckoo-clock  that  she  remembered  from  her  baby  days, 
and  she  glanced  at  her  father  almost  shyly,  remembering 
how,  as  a  little  thing,  he  had  lifted  her  up  to  see  the  carved 
bird  bob  out  and  bow  and  call.  The  books  in  their  old- 
fashioned  glass-fronted  cases  greeted  her  as  old  friends ;  not 
many  had  been  added  in  six  years.  She  picked  up  a  novel. 


14  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"That's  the  last  from  England,  Ces;  have  you  seen  it?" 
asked  her  brother. 

She  glanced  up  and  laughed.  "Oh  you  quaint  folk !"  she 
said.  "I  read  that  six  months  ago!" 

For  hours  they  talked,  and  Cecil  must  tell  again  and  again 
of  her  doings  at  school  and  of  her  impressions  of  England. 
Mrs.  Eldred,  for  the  most  part,  sat  placid,  her  eyes  follow- 
ing Cecil's  every  movement.  Eldred  himself,  deep  in  his 
favourite  armchair,  smoked  his  Boer  pipe  and  tobacco  with 
even  more  silent  complacency.  Leonard  chiefly  asked  ques- 
tions which  his  sister  could  not  answer,  but  he  departed 
after  a  while  to  the  stables  where  a  mare  was  in  foal  and 
needed  attention.  While  supper  was  being  laid,  the  two 
sisters  wandered  out  into  the  garden,  and  Gwen's  endless 
questions  dwelt  lovingly  on  the  ship  and  the  voyage.  Even 
the  things  commonplace  to  Cecil  interested  her.  And  as  for 
Cecil,  she  heard  the  saga  of  the  new  bull,  the  story  of  the 
increase  of  the  sheep  and  the  commonplaces  of  the  farm, 
with  equal  interest,  but  with  wonder  and  a  little  quickening 
of  her  town-accustomed  heart. 

Later  on  Gwen  took  her  up  to  bed ;  to  the  old  room  with 
the  things  that  she  had  counted  treasures  still  there,  where 
she  had  left  them.  She  wandered  round.  "Oh,  here's  my 
old  racquet,  dear  old  thing.  But  it's  no  use  now,  I'm 
afraid.  And  fancy  mother's  leaving  the  old  monkey-skins 
up !  It  seems  generations  ago  since  Harold  shot  them  while 
I  hid  behind  a  rock  and  felt  terrified.  And  my  old  books 
— Henty's!  All  this  lot  will  have  to  go.  Heavens!  fancy 
the  days  when  I  read  Henty!" 

"I  like  them,"  said  Gwen  shortly. 

Cecil  laughed.  "Then  you  can  have  them  all,  my  dear, 
for  I'm  afraid  I  don't.  I  must  explore  the  book-cases  down- 
stairs, and  especially  the  one  dad  always  kept  locked.  Thank 
goodness,  I'm  grown  up  now." 

Gwen  jumped  up  from  the  bed  on  which  she  had  been 
sitting  and  put  an  arm  round  her.  "I  believe  you  really 
are,  Ces,"  she  cried.  "Do  you  know  everything?  Oh,  what 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  15 

talks  we  must  have!  Besides,  you  know,  in  a  few  months 
I'm  to  go  now,  and  you  must  tell  me  heaps  and  heaps  about 
'The  Lindens.'  There's  so  much  I  want  to  know — and  about 
London  and  dances  and  plays.  Have  you  been  to  many, 
Ces?" 

Cecil  yawned.  "Oh,  my  dear,  it's  too  late  to  begin  now, 
but  I  haven't  been  to  so  many.  More  than  you,  though,  I 
suppose.  To-morrow  we'll  wander  right  along  the  shore, 
just  you  and  I.  I'm  longing  to  see  it  again,  and  I'll  tell  you 
all  I  know.  There!  will  that  satisfy  you?" 

Gwen  looked  at  her,  with  the  troubled  eyes  of  a  colonial 
girl  of  sixteen.  "Yes,"  she  said, — "if  you  mean  it." 

A  couple  of  hours  later,  Cecil  ran  up  her  blind  and  leaned 
out  of  the  open  window.  A  glorious  sheen  of  moonlight 
flooded  the  world,  which  seemed  alive  beneath  it.  Cicalas 
were  shrilling  in  the  garden  and  the  sea  booming  on  the 
beach.  Far  out,  a  line  of  lights  told  of  a  liner  passing 
towards  the  Cape.  Cecil,  her  thick  black  hair  plaited  into 
two  long  queues  and  in  her  white  nightgown,  looked  very 
young.  She  drew  a  deep  breath  as  she  took  it  all  in,  and  a 
little  lump  rose  in  her  throat.  Then  she  stretched  her  bare 
arms  out,  threw  her  head  back  and  stared  up  at  the  misty 
stars,  letting  the  breeze  play  with  the  laces  at  her  breast 

"Now  to  be  free  and  to  live,"  she  whispered. 


CHAPTER  H 

WHAT  a  blessing  it  is  not  to  have  to  wonder  if  it's 
going  to  be  fine!"  exclaimed  Cecil  at  breakfast. 
"Gwen  and  I,  mother,  are  going  to  have  a  wander  on  the 
shore  all  by  ourselves  this  morning.  You  don't  mind,  do 
you?  We've  heaps  to  talk  about,  and  I  simply  must  see 
the  river  and  the  beach  again  at  once." 

Mrs.  Eldred  smiled  at  her  eagerness.  "You  haven't 
changed  so  much,  Ces,"  she  said,  "after  all.  It  was  always 
'must'  with  you.  But  as  you  can't  unpack,  for  your  heavy 
luggage  won't  arrive  till  to-morrow  at  earliest,  there's  no 
reason  why  you  shouldn't  go." 

"Suppose  I  meet  you  by  the  boat  for  lunch,"  suggested 
Leonard.  "I'll  bring  the  skoff,  and  then  we  can  row  a  bit 
up-stream  in  the  afternoon.  I  must  see  to  the  shearing 
first,  but  I  can  cut  down  across  country  about  one  o'clock. 
How  will  that  suit  ?" 

"Oh  Len,  how  splendid !  You  are  a  dear !"  cried  Gwen. 
"And  there's  a  cold  chicken,  if  mother  will  part  with  it." 

"Mother  will,"  said  Mrs.  Eldred,  getting  up,  "but  if  you 
two  want  a  long  morning,  you  had  better  get  off  at  once. 
Take  care  of  your  head  in  the  sun,  though,  dear,"  she  added, 
kissing  Cecil  as  she  passed  her  chair.  "You're  not  so  used 
to  it  as  Gwen  is,  and  it's  hot  just  now." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  two  girls  pushed  open  the  garden 
gate  and  stepped  out  on  to  the  rough  grass  of  the  veld.  A 
track  led  away  from  the  gate  across  the  grass,  almost  dis- 
appearing in  the  belt  of  wild  bananas  and  bush  above  the 
high-tide  mark,  but  giving  on  to  the  sand  and  rocks  of  the 
fore-shore.  Cecil  pushed  quickly  through  the  trees,  and 

16 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  17 

stepped  out  on  to  the  beach.  "Oh,  Gwen,"  she  exclaimed, 
"how  perfect  it  is !" 

She  might  well  say  so.  Great  masses  of  tumbled  rock 
upon  which  the  sea  beat  in  a  continuous  roar,  were  broken 
by  beaches  of  shining  sand  and  shell-fragments.  To  the 
south,  not  a  hundred  yards  from  where  they  stood,  the  little 
stream  which  flowed  past  the  house  debouched  into  a  small 
lagoon  that  brimmed  over  a  sandy  bar  to  the  ocean,  and 
beyond  it  rose  the  thickly  wooded  bluff.  Beyond  that, 
again,  in  a  great  shining  curve,  the  shore  sloped  away  to 
a  distant  point  some  five  miles  off,  a  point  that  glimmered 
in  the  heat  and  a  mist  of  spray;  nor  could  you  make  out 
from  here  that  well  on  this  side  the  point,  the  Umtamvuna 
flowed  into  the  sea.  On  Cecil's  left,  to  the  north,  she  could 
only  see  half  a  mile  or  so,  for  masses  of  jutting  rocks  hid 
the  farther  curve  of  the  shore.  The  whole  panorama  lay 
bathed  in  soft  sunshine;  the  sea  glistened  blue  and  foamy 
white ;  the  sand  and  rocks  and  trees  sparkled  and  glowed  in 
the  rich  light ;  and  the  ragged  banana  leaves  rustled  in  what 
seemed  a  whisper  of  welcome. 

Gwen  glanced  about  her  unconcernedly.  "Is  it  so  dif- 
ferent from  England,  then?"  she  asked. 

Cecil  was  silent  a  minute.  Then  she  gave  a  little  sigh 
and  sat  down  on  the  sand,  digging  her  fingers  into  it  and 
staring  out  before  her.  "You've  no  idea  how  different," 
she  said.  "There's  a  taste  in  the  air  that  is  different,  and 
a  light  in  the  sun,  but  above  all  there's  a  feeling  that  we 
might  be  miles  and  miles  from  a  house  and  £lone  on  a 
desert  island.  You  won't  understand,  but  England  is  tamed. 
You  always  feel  restrained  over  there.  Of  course  I  expect 
there  are  wild  and  lonely  places  in  England  somewhere,  and 
I  know  this  is  tame  enough  really,  but  it's  different.  Fancy 
all  that  coast  and  not  a  person  on  it!  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
just  shout  for  sheer  love  of  being  free." 

"Very  likely  there  are  natives  somewhere,"  said  Gwen 
practically,  "though  probably  not  just  now.  They  come 
down  at  low  tide  to  get  shell-fish,  but  not  when  it's  high 


i8  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

like  it  is  to-day.  Besides  this  isn't  the  time  of  low  tides. 
But  come  on!  You're  not  going  to  sit  the,re  all  day,  are 
you?" 

Cecil  jumped  up.  "Oh  no,"  she  exclaimed,  'let's  get  on. 
Which  way  shall  we  go  ?" 

"Well,  if  we're  to  meet  Len  at  one  o'clock  on  the  river, 
it  had  better  be  that  way."  And  the  two  sauntered  off  to- 
gether to  the  south. 

It  was  a  slow  progress.  Cecil  had  to  renew  acquaintance 
with  every  tree  and  shell  and  beast.  Now  she  examined 
the  tracks  of  the  king  crabs  and  now  the  spoor  of  monkeys. 
Together  they  bent  over  rock  pools  and  hunted  out  hermit 
crabs  and  sea-anemones  and  sea-urchins,  a  mass  of  slow- 
waving  spines  of  lovely  hues.  When  the  seas  broke  with 
a  roar  and  foamed  up  the  beach,  they  caught  shell-fish  from 
the  mouths  of  whose  shells  waved  a  great  pinky  sail  of  flesh 
that  seemed  to  writhe  aimlessly  about  if  you  picked  it  up, 
but  burrowed  at  once  into  the  soft  wet  sand  if  let  alone. 
Now  they  strayed  up  the  foreshore  and  tasted  the  tiny  wild 
dates,  or  picked  sweet-scented  yellow  wild-flowers,  or  ex- 
amined strange  seed-pods.  It  was  all  magical  to  Cecil,  and 
Gwen  had  the  delight  of  playing  showman.  And  all  the 
time  she  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  questions  as  to  the  Eng- 
land she  had  never  seen  and  the  wonders  of  London.  Cecil 
could  not  answer  half  her  questions,  but  to  the  younger 
girl,  the  elder  seemed  still  a  much  travelled  and  perfectly 
informed  woman  of  the  world. 

Half  way  to  the  river,  Gwen  clambered  up  a  big  rock 
and  surveyed  a  little  all  but  enclosed  bay  at  her  feet.  The 
sea  ran  in  between  great  piles  of  rock  which  opened  out  on 
to  a  beach  of  smooth  sand.  The  entrance  was  a  tumbled 
mass  of  foam  from  half -hidden  rocks,  but  within  them  was 
a  sheet  of  comparatively  smooth  water  some  five  feet  deep 
at  most  which  shelved  gently  to  the  beach.  It  was  one  of 
her  favourite  spots.  You  could  go  far  out  on  the  arms  of 
rock,  and,  high  up  on  them,  see  for  a  mile  or  more  in  either 
direction.  You  could  fish  from  here  and  throw  the  line 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  19 

beyond  the  surf,  or  better  still,  at  this  time  of  the  tide, 
bathe  in  perfect  security  and  isolation.  It  was  this  idea 
that  was  in  her  head  now. 

"Let's  bathe,  Ces,"  she  called  to  her  sister  who  was  walk- 
ing on  the  sand  below  her.  "It's  a  glorious  place  and  quite 
safe." 

Cecil  looked  up.  "But  we  haven't  towels  or  costumes," 
she  objected. 

Gwen  laughed  merrily.  "My  dear,  you're  not  in  England, 
now,"  she  said.  "What  do  you  want  a  costume  for?  There 
isn't  a  soul  for  miles  and  miles,  and  unless  someone  actually 
came  along,  they  couldn't  see  you.  There  isn't  anyone  com- 
ing, either;  I  can  see  from  here.  And  what  do  you  want 
a  towel  for?  The  wind  and  sun  will  dry  you  in  two  twos. 
Besides,  I  thought  you  wanted  to  be  wild.  I'm  going  in, 
anyway."  And  she  jumped  down  and  began  to  pull  off  her 
jersey  in  the  shade  of  a  great  rock.  "You  have  grown  up," 
she  called. 

Cecil's  gaze  passed  from  her  to  the  invitation  of  the  smil- 
ing sea,  and  then  she  turned  her  back  on  it  and  walked 
slowly  up  to  her  sister.  "What  about  my  hair?"  she  de- 
manded. "It's  all  very  well  for  you!" 

"Let  it  down  and  plait  it,"  cried  Gwen.  "Here,  I'll  do 
it."  And  in  a  moment  the  black  masses  were  tumbling 
down  and  being  as  quickly  twisted  into  a  thick  plait. 
"There!"  she  exclaimed.  "Now  let  it  get  wet  if  it  likes. 
It'll  soon  dry.  Oh,  hurry  up ;  I'm  longing  to  be  in." 

She  slipped  off  her  remaining  garments  and  ran  swiftly 
to  the  sea,  a  long-legged  overgrown  creature,  but  very  sweet 
and  gay,  leaping  in  to  the  soft  creamy  water  like  a  young 
colt. 

Cecil  undressed  slowly,  the  lonely  beautiful  African  beach 
calling  her,  the  years  of  prim  England  slowly  loosening  their 
grip.  A  few  yards  out,  Gwen's  long  arms  beat  the  warm 
water  into  foam  and  she  could  be  heard  ecstatically  exclaim- 
ing at  the  delight  of  it.  Cecil  hesitated  no  longer,  and  in  a 
minute  was  running  down  the  sunny  beach.  She  too  leapt 


20  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

in,  the  water  splashing  about  her,  and,  thigh  deep,  flung 
herself  forward  to  its  embrace.  "Oh,"  she  gasped,  out  of 
breath,  "how  heavenly.  Oh  how  good  to  be  alive!" 

Joining  her  sister,  the  two  girls  clasped  hands  and  waded 
out  until  the  water  was  shoulder-high.  There  Gwen  slipped 
suddenly  free,  and  dived  like  a  Samoan.  Cecil  shrieked  as 
she  felt  her  ankles  seized,  but  the  next  instant  was  ducked 
and  down  in  a  smother  of  water.  She  came  up  laughing 
and  spluttering,  racing  for  Gwen  who  was  swimming  quickly 
away  with  a  fast  side  stroke  and  calling:  "Now  what  about 
your  old  hair,  my  lady !" 

Twenty  minutes  later,  they  waded  out  and  up  the  hot 
sand,  Gwen  flinging  herself  down  in  an  abandonment  of 
delight.  Cecil  stood  by  her,  passing  her  hands  down  her 
limbs  and  shaking  off  what  water  she  could,  and  Gwen,  flat 
on  her  back,  lay  regarding  her.  "You've  a  glorious  figure, 
Ces,"  she  said  suddenly  and  coolly.  "I  hope  I'll  be  as 
beautiful  as  you  are,  one  day." 

Cecil  smiled  and  sat  down  by  her,  heaping  the  warm  sand 
over  her  thighs  and  legs.  "Oh  I  don't  know,"  she  said 
vaguely. 

The  younger  girl  caught  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  splut- 
tering the  next  moment  because  of  the  sand  that  was  cling- 
ing to  it.  "Pig!"  she  said,  "but,  Ces,  come  here,  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

Cecil  leant  back  on  her  arm,  amused.  "What  do  you 
want  to  talk  about?"  she  demanded. 

"Oh,  lots  of  things.  I'm  so  glad  you're  back,  you  know. 
It's  rotten  being  one  girl  alone,  and  there  isn't  anyone  near 
except  Pamela  Urfurd  and  she's  eight  miles  away  at  Three 
Springs  farm  and  no  good  either.  She's  always  reading,  it 
seems  to  me.  I've  been  longing  for  you,  because  I  remem- 
ber you  as  being  ripping,  and  now  you're  grown  up,  you'll 
know  everything.  There's  such  an  awful  lot  that  puzzles 
me.  Ces,  do  you  want  to  marry  ?" 

Cecil  played  with  sand  and  stared  out  to  sea.  "Every- 
body does,"  she  said  evadingly. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  21 

"I  know,"  said  Gwen,  "that's  just  it.  Everybody  does,  or, 
if  they  don't,  they  do  worse  things.  Fanny  had  a  baby 
last  year." 

"Fanny?"  queried  Cecil  dubiously.  Then  she  remem- 
bered. "Oh,  the  new  Griqua  maid.  Did  she,  Gwen?  I 
didn't  know  she  was  married." 

"Of  course  not,  silly,"  said  Gwen. 

Cecil  looked  vaguely  bewildered.  "But  if  she  isn't  mar- 
ried .  .  ."  she  began.  "Oh  Gwen,  how  could  she?" 

"Could  ?"  queried  Gwen  carelessly ;  "easily  enough,  I  sup- 
pose. What  do  you  mean?  Kaffirs  often  do  that,  and  after 
all  Griquas  are  very  like  Kaffirs.  They're  all  very  much 
like  animals,  you  know.  I  sometimes  wonder  why  they 
don't  get  half  a  dozen  babies  at  once,  but  at  any  rate  they 
come  so  quickly  that  it  almost  looks  like  it." 

Cecil  felt  the  hot  blood  ebb  and  flow  in  her  cheeks.  Gwen 
was  her  sister,  but  her  cool  discussion  of  things  one  did  not 
talk  about  to  anyone  unless  one  had  to,  horrified  her.  For 
a  fleeting  second  she  pictured  Miss  Alice  making  a  third  in 
this  conversation,  and  the  mere  thought  was  too  much 
for  her.  If  she  could  have  seen  the  two  of  them  lying  as 
they  were  on  the  sand,  and  if  she  could  have  heard  Gwen's 
words.  .  .  .  She  rolled  over,  convulsed  with  silent  laughter. 

Gwen  regarded  her  with  increasing  pique.  At  last  she 
got  to  her  feet,  and  stood  coolly  looking  down  on  her  elder 
sister.  Cecil  shot  a  glance  up  at  her  standing  there,  sand 
clinging  to  her  body,  her  arms  akimbo  on  her  hips,  and  set 
off  again.  "Oh  Gwen,"  she  cried  hopelessly,  "really  I  can't 
help  it!" 

Gwen's  face  relaxed.  She  sat  down  again.  "But  you 
might  tell  me  the  joke,"  she  said. 

"M-miss  Al-lice!"  gasped  Cecil. 

Cecil  wiped  one  hand  clean  of  sand  by  the  simple  expedi- 
ent of  rubbing  it  on  her  person,  and  became  more  normal. 
"You've  no  idea  how  shocked  she'd  be,"  she  explained. 

"Shocked?"  queried  Gwen,  puzzled. 

Cecil  nodded,  sober  now.    "You  are  not  supposed  to  talk 


22  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

of  such  things,"  she  said.  "You  did  it  so  calmly,  and  Miss 
Alice  would  have  had  a  fit." 

"But  why?"  asked  Gwen.  "These  things  go  on  and  it's 
not  possible  never  to  think  about  them.  Of  course  one  can't 
talk  to  anybody  about  them,  but  I  did  think  I  might  to  you. 
There's  Harold,  for  example;  have  you  never  thought  why 
he  went  to  Rhodesia?  Weren't  you  surprised?" 

"Harold,"  whispered  Cecil,  and  stopped,  not  daring  to 
put  her  thought  into  words. 

Gwen  glanced  at  her  curiously,  struck  by  her  tone.  Then 
she  smiled.  "Fanny's  baby  wasn't  his,  if  you  mean  that," 
she  said. 

Cecil  flushed  at  the  correctness  of  her  sister's  guess  at 
her  thought.  "Of  course  not,"  she  said  hastily. 

A  shade  almost  of  contempt  passed  over  Gwen's  freckled 
face.  "But  he  was  sent  away,"  she  added  bluntly.  "Father 
wanted  him  to  stay  and  farm  Elandskop,  but  there  was  a 
row,  and  he  went." 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know  exactly.  I  think  he  was  flirting  with 
Fanny  though." 

To  Cecil  the  thing  seemed  as  incredible  and  monstrous 
as  the  other.  It  was  as  if  some  shadow  of  horror  had  fallen 
suddenly  across  the  bright  day.  Silence  fell  on  them  both. 
Gwen  was  digging  restlessly  with  her  fingers  in  the  sand, 
and  Cecil  lay  on  her  back,  pleasantly  warm  in  the  sun,  star- 
ing out  to  sea.  She  saw  her  big,  rather  hulking  brother 
again,  and  visions  that  she  could  not  have  named  floated 
through  her  mind.  Tears  gathered  in  her  eyes.  "Oh  Gwen," 
she  said  at  last,  "how  could  he?" 

"I  imagine  he  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Gwen  calmly.  "He 
felt  like  it,  I  suppose,  and  after  all  Fanny  is  half  white  and 
quite  pretty.  No  wonder  father  sent  him  away.  She  would 
have  let  him  do  whatever  he  wanted  to,  as  like  as  not.  Still, 
he  was  a  bit  of  a  fool.  He  might  have  chosen  somebody 
decent  and  got  married  if  he  felt  like  that.  He  was  twenty. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  23 

I  shall  marry  at  twenty,  I  know.  Don't  you  want  to  marry, 
Ces?  How  would  you  like  to  have  a  baby?" 

Cecil  heard  her  in  a  kind  of  dream.  Dimly  she  had  a 
feeling  that  it  could  not  be  quite  real.  Gwen,  her  baby 
sister  as  she  thought  of  her,  was  coolly  putting  her  most 
secret  occasional  thoughts  into  words,  touching  lightly  on 
mysteries  which  Miss  Alice  and  six  years  at  "The  Lindens" 
had  blanketed  around  and  hidden  away  from  sight  People 
got  married,  of  Bourse,  and  women  had  children,  but  •#  was 
not  a  subject  for  so  definite  a  conversation  even  with  one's 
sister,  and  as  for  what  she  tailed  in  her  own  mind  the 
tragedy  of  HaroUd,  h  was  too  awful.  Her  own  brother  even 
looking  twice  at  a  Griqua  woman  1  ThaJ,  at  any  rate,  was 
clear  enough.  This  was  a  strange  new  world  into  which 
she  had  returned.  But  she  knew  what  to  do.  She  spoke 
firmly. 

"Gwen,  I  zvon't  believe  such  an  awful  thing  of  my  own 
brother,  and  you're  not  to  thinlf  of  it  or  speak  of  it  again. 
i  shall  forget  all  about  it.  And  as  for  marrying,  dear,  don't 
you  trouble  about  that  yet  awhile.  I'm  glad  you're  going 
to  'The  Lindens'  yourself  before  Christmas.  Lessons  and 
games  will  take  up  air  your  time  then.  Promise  me  you 
won't  think  of  such  things,  Gwen." 

The  younger  girl  threw  her  sandy  arms  round  her  sister's 
neck  and  kissed  her.  Then  she  slipped  her  arm  round  her 
waist  and  played  with  the  Wg  plait  of  hair  that  fell  over  her 
shoulder.  "I  won't,  Ces,"  she  said.  "But  I  had  to  talk 
to  you.  I've  bottled  things  up  for  so  long.  And  you 
mustn't  hate  me.  It  comes  from  being  alone,  I  expect.  But 
haven't  you  ever  been  in  love,  Ces?" 

"No,"  said  Cecil,  smiling,  "not  in  love.  There  was  a 
nice  man  on  board  ship,  and  I  rather  liked  Steph's  brother 
Archie — she  was  my  great  chum,  you  know — but  I  didn't 
love  any  of  them,  I've  had  too  much  else  to  mink  about. 
Come  on,  let's  dress." 

Gwen  was  reluctant  to  more,     "I  thought  you'd  know 


24  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

all  about  it,"  she  said  gravely,  "but  I  don't  believe  you  do. 
Haven't  you  ever  been  kissed,  Cecil  ?" 

Cecil  laughed  heartily  at  last,  and  was  glad  to  be  able 
to  do  so.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "once,  by  Archie — under  the 
mistletoe,  and  that  doesn't  count.  Why,  have  you?" 

Gwen  jumped  up  hastily,  but  Cecil  was  too  quick  for  her 
and  caught  her  by  the  arm.  "Tell  me,  Gwen,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,"  said  the  younger  girl,  not  looking  at 
her — "only  a  joke,  anyway.  Yes,  let's  dress ;"  and  she  shook 
her  sister  off  and  ran  to  her  clothes,  brushing  sand  off  as 
she  went. 

Cecil  followed  quietly,  until,  half  way  over,  she  realised 
suddenly  that  there  she  was,  coolly  walking  across  an  open 
beach  with  less  on  than  a  Kaffir.  She  glanced  round  with 
the  instinct  of  civilisation  and  ran  hastily  to  her  rock. 
"We'll  be  late  for  lunch,"  called  Gwen,  struggling  into  her 
things.  "Oh  I  won't  be  a  minute,"  said  Cecil.  "Isn't  it 
perfectly  glorious  here?  I  feel  tingly  all  over  after  that 
dip." 

But  she  glanced  at  her  sister  once  or  twice  as  she  dressed, 
and  registered  a  decision.  She  woulcf  open  up  the  latter 
part  of  the  subject  again,  one  day,  anyhow.  She  ought  to 
do,  she  told  herself,  because  she  was  the  elder  and  Gwen 
might  be  getting  herself  into  trouble.  She  wanted  to  do  so, 
she  knew  deep  down,  because  she  felt  strangely  ignorant 
and  Gwen  seemed  to  know  so  much.  But  she  was  half 
ashamed  of  that,  and  the  two  finished  their  dressing  almost 
in  silence.  ^  . 

Half  a  mile  on,  the  slight  cliff  of  the  shore  receded  and 
thick  flat  scrub  took  its  place.  The  sand  widened  and 
deepened  here,  and  it  was  plain  it  had  been  piled  up  by 
the  meeting  of  the  sea  and  river.  So  sure  enough  it  had, 
and  the  two  girls,  stumbling  heavily  through  the  loose  stuff, 
climbed  a  bank  of  it  and  discovered  the  estuary  beyond. 
The  Umtamvuna  is  a  fine  river,  and  if  not  as  beautiful  at 
its  mouth  as  a  mile  or  two  up  where  it  winds  between  cliffs 
a  thousand  feet  high  and  clothed  with  semi-tropical  forest, 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  25 

still  it  was  a  glorious  sight  to  Cecil.  "Oh,"  she  exclaimed, 
"it  hasn't  changed  a  bit.  Do  you  still  keep  the  boat  under 
the  old  mangrove  tree?" 

"Can't  any  more,"  said  Gwen,  "for  it  blew  down  last  year. 
But  there's  a  sort  of  shelter  under  a  rock  a  little  higher 
up,  and  it's  quite  shut  in  by  bushes  from  the  shore.  We 
keep  it  up  there,  and  it's  a  splendid  picnic  place  too.  Len's 
there  now." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  demanded  Cecil. 

Gwen  laughed.  "Where  are  your  eyes,  my  dear?  Look 
along  the  river-bank  now,  past  that  banana-clump  that  stands 
out  a  bit  on  the  shore.  Now,  can't  you  see  smoke  among 
the  leaves  beyond?" 

"Oh  yes,  of  course  I  do.    How  stupid  of  me !    Let's  race." 

"Right,  I'll  beat  you,"  shouted  Gwen,  and  was  away 
like  a  flash. 

But  "The  Lindens"  had  taught  Cecil  something  useful 
anyway.  Not  for  nothing  had  she  captained  the  hockey  and 
won  prizes  for  sports.  Half  way  along  she  passed  her 
sister,  and  was  half  a  dozen  yards  in  front  when  she  bent 
herself  almost  double  and  dived  in  among  the  trees.  Out 
of  breath  and  hot,  her  hair  in  her  eyes  and  her  hat  on  her 
neck,  she  failed  to  see  a  man  who  was  gathering  some 
sticks  for  the  fire,  and  stumbled  up  against  him. 

"Oh  Len,"  she  gasped,  "we've  had — glorious — bathe,  and 

I  can— still  race Oh!"  And  she  broke  off.  "Oh,  I 

beg  your  pardon !" 

But  Gwen  was  close  behind  her.  "Hullo!  you  here, 
Hugh,"  she  panted.  "How  topping.  Where's  Len?" 

The  man  was  facing  them  now  and  smiling  broadly. 
"Morning,  Gwen,"  he  said.  "Yes,  I'm  here.  I  turned  up 
over  some  cattle,  and  Len  brought  me  along.  He's  gone  for 
water.  But  don't  you  think  you  ought  to  introduce  me  to 
your  sister?" 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Gwen,  throwing  herself  down  by 
the  fire.  "You  know  her,  or  at  least  you  did.  Ces,  this  is 
Hugh  Sinclair  of  Springfontein.  Don't  you  remember?" 


26  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Sinclair  held  out  his  hand.  "You  weren't  much  more 
than  eleven  or  twelve  when  I  saw  you  last,  Miss  Eldred," 
he  said,  "and  as  I'm  eight  years  older  than  Harold,  you 
know,  I  don't  suppose  you  do  remember  me.  I  should 
hardly  have  known  you  again,  anyhow,  I  confess.  You've 
changed  out  of  all  knowledge." 

Cecil  had  recovered  herself,  and  had  pushed  back  her 
hair  and  set  her  hat  on  her  head.  "How  do  you  do?"  she 
asked,  shaking  his  hand.  "Oh  yes,  I  do  remember  you  now. 
You  don't  look  a  day  older.  But  I  thought  Springfontein 
was  miles  away." 

"Well,  it's  no  nearer  than  it  used  to  be,  but  we've  a  decent 
road  and  motors  in  these  days,  you  know.  You  can  do  it 
in  a  day.  I  hope  I'll  be  able  to  show  you  soon.  But  I  started 
a  bit  late  and  slept  at  Murchison  Flats  on  the  road  down 
yesterday,  leaving  there  after  breakfast  this  morning.  It 
was  an  early  breakfast,  though,  and  I  confess  I'm  looking 
forward  to  that  chicken.  Thank  goodness,  here's  Len." 

Len  came  in  with  the  kettle.  "Hullo,  you  two,  on  time 
are  you  ?  Been  bathing  ?  How  do  you  like  the  water,  Ces  ? 
Bit  warmer  than  England,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh  it  was  lovely,"  cried  Cecil.  "I've  never  enjoyed  a 
bathe  so  much." 

"We  hadn't  towels  or  anything,"  said  Gwen  -coolly,  "and 
we  dried  in  the  sand  afterwards.  Cecil  thought  it  wasn't 
proper  at  first." 

"Gwen!"  gasped  Cecil,  scarlet. 

Sinclair  came  to  the  rescue.  "It's  much  the  best  way 
of  bathing,"  said  he,  taking  the  kettle  from  Leonard  and 
going  to  the  fire.  "I'm  all  for  a  dip  like  that  when  I  get 
a  chance.  But  get  out  of  the  way,  Gwen,  and  let  me  put 
the  kettle  on,  unless  you'd  rather  do  it  yourself.  I  don't 
know  if  you've  discovered  how  lazy  your  sister  is,  Miss 
Eldred,"  he  added. 

Gwen  moved  to  one  side  and  gathered  her  feet  up  under 
her,  clasping  her  hands  round  her  knees.  "The  first  thing 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  27 

to  remember  about  Hugh,  Ces,  is  that  he  never  means  what 
he  says,"  she  announced. 

The  kettle  on,  Sinclair  pulled  up  a  half-log  for  Cecil  and 
sat  down  beside  it  himself.  While  they  ate,  she  was  rather 
silent,  but  the  others  talked  so  fast  that  no  one  seemed  to 
notice  it.  What  her  sister  had  told  her  of  her  eldest  brother, 
refused  to  be  banished,  and  she  could  not  look  at  the  two 
men  near  her  without  thinking  of  it.  Somehow  she  felt 
she  could  fit  it  on  to  what  she  remembered  of  Harold,  a  big 
fellow  even  at  sixteen  as  he  was  when  she  had  gone  to 
school.  He  had  grown  up  on  the  farm,  old  beyond  his 
years,  and  his  father  had  taught  him  all  he  knew.  It  was 
the  example  of  Harold  before  her,  that  had  urged  Mrs. 
Eldred  to  send  her  second  child  and  elder  daughter  away 
to  England,  determining  that  what  she  could  hardly  have 
helped  in  his  case,  she  would  certainly  not  allow  in  Cecil's. 
But  Hugh  Sinclair  was  of  a  different  make  altogether.  He 
was  English  born,  and  if  he  had  left  home  and  a  public 
school  too  young  for  much  education,  and  knocked  about 
the  world  a  good  deal  since,  at  any  rate  he  had  kept  the 
stamp  of  a  gentleman.  Strong  and  finely  built,  if  a  little 
heavy,  he  was  very  courteous  to  her.  Sitting  here,  by  the 
camp  fire,  her  mug  of  tea  planted  in  the  fallen  leaves  and 
sand,  and  the  sun  filtering  through  the  boughs  overhead, 
she  could  hardly  believe  that  a  couple  of  months  before 
she  had  been  in  Miss  Alice's  drawing-room.  The  contrast 
delighted  her.  She  burst  into  a  laugh,  suddenly,  at  the  idea. 

Len  looked  up.     "What's  the  joke,  Ces?"  he  demanded. 

"Nothing,"  she  said,  a  little  confused  and  conscious  that 
Hugh  Sinclair's  eyes  were  on  her.  "Only  this  is  such  a 
contrast  to  'The  Lindens.'  You  haven't  an  idea.  Why  in 
the  world  does  anyone  stay  in  England,  I  wonder!" 

"You  didn't  enjoy  yourself  much  over  there,  then,  Miss 
Eldred?"  said  Hugh. 

"Oh  yes  I  did,"  she  declared.  "I  wouldn't  have  missed 
going  for  anything  in  a  way.  But  I  think  I  should  have  been 


28  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

less  content  if  I  had  realised  that  you  people  were  doing 
this  sort  of  thing  every  day.  Even  as  it  was,  I  used  to  feel 
stifled  at  times.  Sometimes,  when  they  were  bored  with 
life,  the  girls  used  to  make  me  tell  them  tales  of  Africa,  and 
just  talking  about  it  made  me  long  to  get  out  again." 

Hugh  nodded.  "That's  the  call  of  the  blood,"  he  said. 
"But  it's  curious  some  people  have  it  and  some  haven't. 
My  people  were  English  bred  and  had  lived  in  England  all 
their  lives,  but  yet  I  felt  that  I  must  smell  the  blue  sea  and 
get  .out  of  the  old  country.  I  took  the.  first  chance  and 
came,  though  I  expect  I  would  have  stuck  there  if  I  hadn't. 
But  you  will  never  be  sorry  that  you  were  at  'The  Lindens/ 
Miss  Eldred.  I'm  always  wishing  I'd  had  more  education. 
You  feel  it  when  you  mix  with  fellows  who  have." 

"That's  rot,  Hugh,"  asserted  Gwen.  "I'd  sooner  have 
you  than  any  of  those  idiots  who  make  you  feel  as  if  you 
had  never  read  anything  or  been  anywhere." 

Len  chuckled.  "She's  proposing  to  you,  Sinclair,"  he 
said. 

Gwen  flushed  suddenly  beneath  her  tan  and  kicked  out 
at  him  across  the  embers  with  her  foot.  "Don't  talk  rot," 
she  said.  "Hugh  knows  what  I  mean." 

Hugh  got  to  his  feet.  "I  think  I  do,  Gwen,"  he  said, 
"and  it's  good  of  you  to  say  it.  But  you're  not  right,  for 
all  that.  However,  the  day's  going.  Let's  get  the  boat 
out  and  pull  up  the  river.  What  do  you  say,  Miss  Eldred  ?" 

"Oh  rather,"  cried  Cecil,  springing  up.  "I'm  dying  to 
see  the  river  again  and  it  will  be  a  perfect  afternoon. 
Where's  the  boat?  Come  on,  Len." 

That  worthy  got  up  with  a  sigh.  "I've  only  just  settled 
that  skoff  down,"  he  said.  "You  two  are  in  a  confounded 
hurry.  Still  there's  no  rest  for  the  wicked,  I  suppose.  Give 
Gwen  a  hand  with  the  sculls,  Ces,  and  Sinclair  and  I  will  see 
to  the  boat.  Come  on,  Sinclair." 

The  sculls  were  hidden  cleverly  up  the  boughs  of  a  big 
tree,  and  when  the  girls  emerged  with  them,  the  men  had 
already  got  the  boat  afloat  from  its  place  among  some 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  29 

bushes.  Sinclair  was  in  her,  his  coat  off  and  his  sleeves 
rolled  up.  He  helped  Cecil  in  and  she  took  the  tiller.  "I'll 
steer,"  she  said. 

"Right,"  said  Hugh,  "and  I'll  scull  her  up,  anyway.  Get 
over  there  by  your  sister,  Gwen,  and  trim  her.  I  believe 
you're  heavier  than  Miss  Eldred." 

Len  pushed  the  light  boat  off  with  a  vigorous  shove,  leapt 
on  board,  and  curled  himself  up  in  the  bows.  Hugh  paused 
a  minute  to  light  his  pipe,  and  then  began  to  pull  leisurely 
up  stream. 

Silence  settled  down  on  them.  In  a  little  the  river  nar- 
rowed, and  soon  they  were  gliding  under  the  great  krantzes, 
thick  with  bush  except  where  the  naked  rock  stood  out,  and 
by  the  cultivated  patches  of  native  land  wherever,  for  a 
few  yards,  the  cliffs  stood  back  from  the"  water.  Toucans 
called  from  the  thickets,  and  now  and  again  a  green  and 
blue  and  gold  kingfisher  regarded  them  solemnly  from  his 
perch  or  skimmed  up-stream  before  their  approach.  Far 
oif,  from  somewhere  high  up  on  the  rocks,  a  baboon  barked 
to  its  mate,  and  Cecil  dreamily  wondered  if  Paradise  itself 
had  been  more  lovely. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  morrow  was  Saturday,  and  at  breakfast,  when  Sin- 
clair referred  to  his  return,  there  was  a  chorus  of  dis- 
approval. Eldred,  with  colonial  hospitality  and  brusqueness, 
set  the  suggestion  aside  at  once.  "Oh  rubbish,"  he  said. 
"It's  weeks  since  you  were  here,  and  you  can  stay  over  the 
week-end  anyhow.  You  needn't  tell  me  that  it  is  so  impor- 
tant as  all  that  for  you  to  get  back."  And  his  wife  sup- 
ported him.  "Oh  yes,  do  stay,  Mr.  Sinclair,"  she  said. 
"You'll  help  us  to  break  Cecil  in  to  the  quietness  of  Elands- 
kop." 

He  smiled.  "Well,"  he  said,  "my  shearing's  done,  it's 
true,  but  I  can't  help  thinking  that  you  want  Miss  Eldred 
to  yourselves  just  at  present.  After  six  years,  you'll  have 
so  much  to  say  to  each  other  that  a  stranger  will  be  in 
the  way." 

"A  stranger  might,  but  you're  no  stranger,  Hugh,"  put 
in  Gwen. 

"Gwen,"  said  her  mother,  "you  ought  not  to  call  Mr. 
Sinclair  'Hugh.'  You're  not  a  child  any  longer.  You  should 
snub  her,  Mr.  Sinclair." 

"Oh  please  don't  say  that,  Mrs.  Eldred,"  said  Hugh. 
"We've  known  each  other  too  long  for  ceremony.  Miss 
Eldred,  it's  your  fault.  You  make  us  all  feel  intensely 
proper." 

Cecil  laughed  easily.  "For  goodness'  sake,  don't  say  that," 
she  cried.  "I'm  beginning  to  feel  already  as  if  I  had  never 
been  away,  and  then  you  suggest  fearful  things  like  that! 
Do  stay,  anyway,  and  get  over  it." 

"There  you  are,  Sinclair,"  said  Eldred.  "The  meeting's 
nem.  con.  against  your  going,  and  you've  plainly  a  reason 
for  staying.  You  can't  go  now." 

30 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  31 

"I  don't  feel  I  can,"  he  said  lightly,  but  he  glanced  at 
Cecil  as  he  spoke  and  she  felt  instantly  that  the  words 
meant  more  than  appeared.  A  ripple  of  feeling  ran 
through  her,  and  her  blood  danced.  She  felt  suddenly 
that  it  was  amazingly  good  to  be  alive  and  pretty  and  nicely 
dressed.  It  was  a  first  taste  of  power  and  was  far  more 
vivid  than  she  would  have  allowed. 

"That's  settled  then,"  she  said,  pushing  her  chair  back. 
"Now,  please,  outline  the  programme." 

Eldred  got  up.  "Count  me  out  this  morning,  anyway," 
he  said,  "and  Len,  I  shall  want  you.  Jacob  says  some  of 
the  cattle  are  sick  and  you  had  better  go  and  look  at  them. 
But  what  do  you  say  to  spearing  some  fish  to-night?  The 
mullet  are  thick  in  the  river  and  the  tide  will  be  just  right. 
We've  got  a  new  grains,  Cecil,  and  you  might  like  to  see 
the  fun." 

"Oh,  dad,  how  splendid,"  she  cried.  "You  are  a  dear  for 
thinking  of  it.  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Sinclair?" 

"Topping,"  he  said.  "That's  a  thing  you  don't  get  my 
way.  Len's  a  Trojan  at  it,  but  the  last  time  I  tried,  I  threw 
myself  overboard  as  well  as  the  spear." 

"You  did,"  said  Gwen  in  her  cool  way,  "but  you  went 
over  very  nicely,  Hugh,  if  you  remember,  and  when  we  fished 
you  out,  we  found  you  had  your  fish  all  right." 

They  all  laughed,  and  the  thing  was  settled.  Eldred  and 
his  son  went  off  to  the  farm,  and  Mrs.  Eldred  to  the  kitchen. 
The  other  three  strolled  out  into  the  garden  and  Hugh  pro- 
duced his  cigarette  case.  "Do  you  smoke,  Miss  Eldred?" 
he  said,  offering  it. 

"No,  thanks,"  she  replied. 

"I'll  have  one,  though,  Hugh,"  said  Gwen,  "thanks  very 
much." 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  apologised.  "I  thought  you  kept  that 
for  more  private  occasions." 

"Well,  I  do,"  she  replied.  "But  everybody's  gone,  and 
besides  I  want  one.  Don't  look  so  shocked,  Ces,"  she  added. 

Cecil  felt  absurdly  nettled.     "I'm  not,"  she  said;  "you 


32  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

can  smoke  if  you  want  to.  It  seems  to  me  that  you  do  most 
of  the  things  you  want  to  do,  anyhow." 

Gwen  pulled  on  her  cigarette  and  blew  out  the  smoke  like 
a  boy,  but  with  a  curious  grace  that  characterised  her.  "Do 
I,  Hugh?"  she  demanded  evenly. 

He  laughed,  slightly  self-consciously  Cecil  thought. 
"You've  ruled  the  roost  I  think,"  he  said.  "It's  a  good  thing 
your  sister  has  come  home.  But  what's  to  be  the  programme, 
Miss  Eldred  ?  It's  up  to  you  to  choose." 

"I  hardly  know  what's  possible,"  she  replied.  "What  do 
you  think,  Gwen?" 

"I've  a  mind  to  think  nothing,"  retorted  that  young  lady, 
"but  go  off  by  myself  with  a  book  till  Hugh  seeks  me  out 
with  chocolates  and  apologies.  However,  I'll  be  merciful. 
Wherefore  I  suggest  what  you  hinted  at  yesterday :  a  stroll 
through  the  gardens  and  over  the  veld  to  the  store.  Then 
back  and  a  ba*he  before  lunch.  As  Hugh  will  be  with  us, 
you  can  put  on  your  most  chic  costume  this  time,  Cecil.  And 
you  can  wear  one  of  Len's,  Hugh." 

"  'Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings,'  "  Sinclair 
said  gravely,  poking  fun  at  her;  "but  really  it's  a  splendid 
plan.  And  possibly  old  Shenk  may  have  the  very  chocolates 
of  which  you  speak.  What  do  you  say,  Miss  Eldred  ?" 

"Gwen  justifies  her  existence,  I  think,"  said  Cecil.  "Let's 
get  hats  and  stroll  off  at  once."  And  she  pushed  her  arm 
into  her  sister's. 

They  followed  a  little  path  through  the  pines  down  to  the 
stream,  over  its  boulders,  and  up  the  side  of  the  hill  through 
a  fruit  garden  of  pine-apples,  oranges,  bananas  and  man- 
goes. It  was  hot,  but  only  deliciously  so,  and  they  walked 
slowly.  To  Cecil  every  step  of  the  way  brought  back  mem- 
ories. 

"I  remember  old  Jacob  beginning  this  garden,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "He  had  a  Kaffir  to  help  him,  and  complained  to 
father,  after  a  bit,  that  the  Kaffir  did  nothing  but  wait  with 
an  old  gun  to  shoot  monkeys  which  he  alleged  came  to  steal 
the  fruit  and  sweet  potatoes.  Do  they  still  come,  Gwen?" 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  33 

"Oh,  yes,  but  not  so  many,"  said  Gwen.  "Several  have 
been  shot  over  there  on  the  edge  of  those  orange  trees,  and  I 
think  they're  frightened  of  the  place  a  bit.  Or  perhaps  we 
have  so  much  fruit  now  that  we  don't  miss  it."  And  she 
stooped  to  pick  up  a  ripe  fallen  mango  as  she  spoke. 

"Keep  that  to  eat  in  the  sea,"  said  Hugh.  "They  say 
you  can  only  eat  these  things  in  a  bath,  Miss  Eldred." 

"Rot — lend  us  your  knife,  Hugh,"  said  Gwen,  and  she 
deftly  cut  the  fruit,  peeled  away  the  skin,  and  sucked  it 
gingerly.  Then,  making  a  grimace,  she  threw  it  away. 
"Turpentiney,"  she  explained.  "Come  on;  we  shall  never 
get  to  the  store." 

She  set  off  ahead,  up  the  steep  path  and  on  to  the  flat  veld 
at  the  top.  The  other  two  followed  more  slowly,  finding 
plenty  to  talk  about  and  something  at  every  step  that  Cecil 
wanted  to  examine.  She  asked  innumerable  questions,  and 
Hugh  had  to  confess  himself  beaten  more  often  than  not. 
She  picked  a  small  wild  scarlet  zinnia  and  demanded  its 
name. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  confessed.  "I  fear  you'll  find  us  all 
terrible  duffers,  Miss  Eldred.  I  can  tell  you  the  grasses 
that  are  good  for  cattle  and  give  you  a  lecture  on  mealies 
and  Kaffir  corn,  cattle  and  sheep,  but  I'm  stumped  beyond 
that.  We  don't  think  about  other  things  much,  and  some- 
how there  isn't  time." 

Cecil  liked  his  candour.  "You've  bigger  things  to  do," 
she  said.  "That's  what  I  like  about  African  men.  You  can 
do  things,  if  you  don't  know  much.  Oh,  at  least,  I  don't 
mean  that " 

"Yes,  you  do,"  he  cut  in.  "And  you're  quite  right.  What's 
more,  we  ought  to  know  more  than  we  do.  But  one  lives  so 
much  among  poor  whites  and  natives,  and  talks  farm  shop 
whenever  one  meets  a  neighbour,  that  other  things  get  for- 
gotten. That's  why  it's  so  jolly  meeting  you.  You're  so 
different  from  girls  that  have  never  been  home." 

"Am  I  ?"  queried  Cecil.  "I  wonder.  What's  the  good  of 
half  the  things  one  learned  over  there?  You  don't  know  how 


34  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

prim  and  proper  they  kept  us.  Even  Gwen  makes  me  feel 
as  if  I  were  her  age  and  she  were  mine.  I've  learned  some 
French  and  German  (and  not  enough  of  them  to  be  of  any 
real  use)  but  I  don't  know  about  life  at  all.  Gwen  can  run 
the  house ;  I  shouldn't  even  know  how  to  order  the  dinner !" 

He  laughed.  "Gwen's  an  awfully  good  sort  and  a  great 
pal  of  mine,"  he  said,  "but  you  show  her  up.  You  make  me 
feel,  suddenly,  that  riding  and  farming  and  shooting  are  not 
everything.  Do  you  know  you  make  me  realise  that  my 
people  are  the  Sinclairs  of  West  Haven.  This  isn't  snob- 
bishness, Miss  Eldred — please  don't  think  it  is.  And  I  hope 
to  goodness  that  I  haven't  forgotten  I  was  born  a  gentleman, 
though  of  course  one  doesn't  talk  about  it.  But  you  make  a 
fellow  pull  himself  together,  somehow.  You  remind  me  of 
my  sisters  and  home.  And  it's  very  good  to  be  reminded." 

Cecil  did  not  look  at  him.  She  felt  quaintly  happy,  but 
she  could  not  have  put  her  feelings  into  words.  She  bent 
forward  and  pulled  at  a  long  grass.  "Tell  me  about  your 
life  out  here,"  she  said  softly. 

"I  came  out  thirteen  years  ago,"  said  Hugh,  "and  I've 
never  been  home  since.  I  was  only  seventeen  then.  I  came 
out  to  a  farmer  near  Maritzburg,  a  friend  of  my  father,  and 
I  had  a  pretty  rough  time,  I  can  tell  you.  I've  trekked  right 
through  East  Griqualand,  many  a  time,  and  there  weren't 
so  many  roads  then.  I  used  to  go  off  alone  with  some  boys 
and  buy  cattle  in  Pondoland  and  in  Basutoland.  I  got  to 
know  your  father  then :  he  was  just  getting  settled  here,  and 
you  were  a  tot  of  a  girl  who  always  stared  strangers  out  of 
countenance  with  those  big  eyes  of  yours.  Then  came  a  Zulu 
rising,  and  I  joined  up  for  that  and  got  a  liking  for  the  life, 
went  up  to  Rhodesia  in  the  police,  and  stayed  there  several 
years.  But  it  was  awfully  rough  and  slow  work  most  of  the 
time,  and,  besides,  it  led  to  so  little.  So  I  came  back  here, 
and  had  a  chance  to  buy  Springfontein.  It  was  your  father 
who  advised  me  to  take  it.  I  came  down  to  see  him  and 
got  his  advice  a  few  months  before  you  left  for  England, 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  35 

but  I  only  stayed  for  one  night  and  I  don't  suppose  you 
remember." 

"You  sat  out  on  the  stoep  smoking  cigars,"  said  Cecil 
gravely,  "and  a  native  came  in  the  middle  and  said  your 
horse  was  sick.  And  you  said  something  rather  hastily  and 
went  off  to  see." 

Sinclair  laughed  shamefacedly.  "Oh  I  say,  that's  too 
bad,"  he  exclaimed.  "But  where  in  the  world  were  you? 
And  how  do  you  know?" 

Cecil  smiled.  "It's  curious  how  I  remember,"  she  said. 
"I  was  on  a  kaross  in  the  corner  all  the  time,  and  I  was 
listening  because  you  were  telling  father  about  lions  in 
Rhodesia.  I'd  clean  forgotten,  but  I  remember  perfectly 
plainly  now." 

He  nodded.  "So  I  was,"  he  said.  "It's  a  good  omen, 
Miss  Eldred.  Anyhow  I  took  the  farm,  six  years  ago  now, 
and  I'm  doing  quite  well.  I  hope  you'll  come  and  see  it  soon. 
But  I  live  alone,  and  it's  not  much  of  a  place  for  a  lady 
as  it  is.  Wouldn't  you  like  a  trek  over  into  Basutoland? 
If  your  father  and  Gwen  came,  I  could  easily  arrange  it." 

"What's  that  about  me?''  demanded  Gwen,  who  had 
waited  for  them  almost  concealed  by  a  bank  of  rushes  where 
the  path  crossed  a  tiny  feeder  of  the  main  stream  and 
ascended  to  the  store  on  the  sky-line. 

"Oh,  Gwen,  you  quite  scared  me !"  cried  Cecil. 

"Yes,  you  and  Hugh  seemed  mighty  thick,"  said  Gwen. 
"But  what  were  you  saying  about  me,  anyhow?" 

Sinclair  turned  to  her  eagerly:  "I  was  just  suggesting 
that  you  two  might  like  a  trek  into  Basutoland,"  he  said, 
"and  that  if  your  father  brought  you  to  my  place,  I  could 
get  it  up." 

"How  perfectly  priceless,"  cried  Gwen.  "When,  Hugh? 
Next  week?" 

The  others  both  laughed.  "That's  a  bit  soon  for  Miss 
Eldred,  I  expect,"  said  Hugh.  "You'll  want  to  get  your 
luggage  up  first  and  settle  in,  won't  you?  However,  even 


36  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

next  week  wouldn't  be  too  soon  for  me,  and  anyway  we 
ought  not  to  wait  too  long  or  it  will  be  getting  cold  on  the 
Range  by  night.  The  end  of  April  would  be  perfect — that's 
a  good  month." 

Cecil  nodded.  "Yes,  I  must  get  my  things  straight,"  she 
said,  "and  besides  we  can  hardly  trek  off  the  mo'ment  I  am 
back.  Remember  mother." 

"Bring  her,  too,"  interjected  Hugh. 

"She  wouldn't  care  about  it,"  said  Gwen  decidedly.  "As 
to  your  things,  Ces,  they  won't  .take  any  time,  but  certainly 
you  couldn't  leave  motfier  all  at  once.  Let's  settle  the  end 
of  April,  and  switch  on  to  it  carefully  at  home.  Hugh,  give 
me  another  cigarette,  there's  a  dear." 

Cecil  walked  on  as  the  two  stopped  for  Hugh  to  light 
her  sister's  cigarette,  but  she  had  sharp  ears.  "You've  never 
asked  me,"  said  Gwen,  in  her  low  distinct  voice.  Sinclair 
made  a  reply  which  she  could  not  hear,  and  the  next  minute 
they  joined  her.  Sinclair  was  a  little  silent,  Cecil  thought, 
but  Gwen  took  up  the  running. 

"There's  a  crowd  at  the  store,"  she  said.  "Several  Kaffirs 
went  by  while  I  waited  for  you,  so  you'll  be  able  to  renew 
your  acquaintance  with  niggers,  Ces.  Don't  you  forget  the 
chocolates,  Hugh.  Shenks  keeps  some  particularly  nice 
chocolate  peppermint  creams.  I  hope  you  like  peppermint, 
Cecil — at  least  I'm  not  sure;  perhaps  I  hope  you  don't. 
Then  there'll  be  more  for  me.  There!  Didn't  I  say  there 
was  a  crowd  ?" 

Their  path  had  led  thefti  round  a  big  rondhavel  and  out 
to  an  open  space  in  front  of  the  rough  iron  building  of  the 
store.  It  was  a  scene  of  immense  animation  and  apparent 
excitement.  Under  a  willow  across  the  yard,  a  dozen  or 
more  horses  with  bags  of  grain  slung  across  them  were  being 
off-loaded.  In  the  centre,  a  little  to  one  side  of  the  door 
and  under  the  projecting  iron  roof,  a  white  man  stood  behind 
a  scale  with  a  crowd  of  natives  before  him.  He  had  a  pencil 
in  his  hand  and  a  book,  and  was  noting  names  and  figures 
in  it  as  a  black  boy,  who  weighed  the  grain,  called  them  out. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  37 

A  man  would  stagger  up  with  a  sack  and  sling  it  on  to  the 
scale,  and  the  black  assistant  would  carefully  slide  along  the 
weight,  a  dozen  pairs  of  eyes  on  him.  He  would  call  out  a 
name  and  figure,  and  the  white  man  would  repeat  both  and 
add  a  price  which  he  then  wrote  on  a  second  slip  of  paper, 
tore  off  and  handed  to  the  man.  The  fellow  would  stare 
at  it,  his  black  face  one  huge  grin,  and  perhaps  join  the 
expectant  crowd  to  see  how  his  neighbour  fared,  or  perhaps 
go  at  once  into  the  store  to  commence  the  lengthy  job  of 
selecting  goods.  All  the  time  a  babble  of  sound  arose  from  a 
miscellaneous  crowd  of  women  and  children,  all  talking  at 
once  and  nineteen  to  the  dozen  into  the  bargain. 

Shenk  came  forward  the  moment  he  saw  them.  "How  do 
you  do,  Sinclair,"  he  said.  "What  are  you  getting  for 
mealies  up  your  way?  Finished  shearing  yet?  How  do 
you  do,  Miss  Gwen.  Is  this  your  sister?  How  do  you  do, 
Miss  Eldred.  I  heard  you  were  expected  back  this  week, 
but  I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  here  so  soon.  I'm  afraid  I'm 
very  busy  and  very  dirty.  Is  it  six  years  since  I  saw  you? 
I  don't  think  I  should  have  known  her,  Miss  Gwen." 

"Probably  not,"  said  Gwen.  "I'm  not  sure  any  of  us  do. 
She's  the  latest  London  fashion,  you  know." 

Cecil  and  Shenk  laughed,  but  not  Sinclair.  The  girl's 
words  hurt  him  somehow.  "Well,  you're  busy,  just  at  the 
moment,  I  can  see,"  he  said  to  Shenk.  "We'll  go  in  and  have 
a  look  round.  We've  some  purchases  to  make." 

"Right-ho,"  said  Shenk.  "You'll  have  a  cup  of  tea,  Miss 
Eldred?  Masupa!"  he  shouted,  "Masupa!"  and  then,  as  a 
black  head  appeared  round  the  corner  of  the  store,  "Tea ! — 

three  cups.  Well,  if  you  will  excuse  me  for  a  moment " 

And  he  went  back  to  the  scales. 

The  three  of  them  entered  the  store.  Round  three  sides 
ran  a  broad  counter,  and  behind  the  counter,  piled  up  on 
shelves  almost  to  the  roof,  were  trade  goods:  all  kinds  of 
material,  trousers,  jackets  and  blankets — shelves  and  shelves 
of  blankets ;  then  grocery  goods,  tinned  meat,  sardines,  can- 
dles, matches,  beads,  small  looking-glasses,  and  a  score  more 


407035 


38  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

things.  From  the  roof  were  hung  frames  which  held  sad- 
dlery, boots,  hats  and  caps,  and  umbrellas.  On  either  side  of 
the  door  were  large  mirrors,  concave  and  convex  respec- 
tively, so  that  in  them  the  reflection  of  a  man  was  ludicrously 
comic,  either  very  thin  or  very  fat. 

The  place  was  half  full  of  natives,  mostly  women  and 
children.  The  women's  hair  was  in  many  cases  greasy  and 
hanging  in  revolting  'tails'  of  red  ochre  and  fat,  their  skin 
oiled  and  glossy,  their  garments  often  mere  rags.  Some  were 
examining  the  'rugs'  of  common  native  wear,  however,  with 
the  knowledge  and  criticism  of  ladies  in  Bond  Street,  and 
others  were  discussing  purchases  and  exchanging  news. 
Cecil's  attention  was  caught  by  a  group  of  children,  the  eldest 
intent  on  the  purchase  of  half  a  bottle  of  paraffin,  some  sugar 
and  some  matches,  the  rest  eagerly  waiting  for  the  gift  of 
half  a  handful  of  common  sweets  that  was  the  bonne  bouche 
reserved  for  the  end  of  every  purchase. 

"Funny  little  beggars,  aren't  they?"  said  Sinclair  behind 
her. 

She  turned  towards  him  smiling.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "but 
very  like  children  in  a  village  shop  at  home." 

"Not  much  resemblance  in  the  women  though,"  he  said, 
glancing  at  them. 

Cecil  followed  his  glance  with  her  eyes,  and  for  a  moment 
forgot  her  companion  in  a  sudden  shock  of  surprise.  "Oh !" 
she  exclaimed,  "Fanny!" 

Over  in  a  corner,  laughing  and  talking  with  a  group  of 
native  women,  was  the  half-caste  servant-girl.  In  the  house 
she  had  seemed  to  Cecil  reserved  and  far  more  akin  to 
whites  than  blacks,  but  here  the  situation  was  reversed.  She 
was  on  the  best  of  terms  with  the  natives,  and  at  the  moment 
taking  a  sticky  lump  of  sweet  from  a  black  woman's  hand. 
She  half  turned,  too,  at  the  moment,  and  then  Cecil  saw, 
hung  in  the  shawl  on  her  back,  a  baby,  its  face  staring  aim- 
lessly out.  Harold  flashed  into  her  mind,  and  what  might 
have  been. 

A  sense  almost  of  physical  sickness  swept  over  her.    The 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  39 

heat,  the  smell  of  the  natives,  and  the  surprise,  were  more 
than  she  could  stand.  It  was  almost  as  if  she  had  been 
struck  a  sudden  blow,  and  she  went  white  beneath  the 
shock.  Hugh  saw  her  change  colour,  and  in  a  moment  had 
seized  a  folding  chair  from  its  place  by  the  wall,  set  it  up 
and  placed  it  for  her.  "It's  the  heat,"  he  exclaimed.  "I'm 
so  sorry;  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  it.  Thank  goodness, 
Shenk  sent  that  boy  for  tea — he  won't  be  many  minutes. 
Can  you  wait?  Or  would  you  like  some  water?" 

Cecil  gripped  tight  hold  of  herself  and  smiled  mechani- 
cally up  at  him.  Time  seemed  to  be  standing  still  and  giving 
her  opportunity  to  think.  "It  was  awfully  stupid  of  me, 
Mr.  Sinclair,"  she  said.  "I  don't  know  why  I  suddenly  felt 
so  faint.  But  I  shall  be  all  right  in  a  moment.  Oh  look, 
there's  the  tea.  That's  all  I  want." 

The  boy  brought  the  tea  in  rough  cups,  slopped  over  into 
their  saucers,  and  the  sugar-basin  was  the  scuttle  with  which 
the  sugar  was  served  from  its  bin.  Shenk  came  up  with 
apologies,  and  Cecil  threw  herself  into  the  fun  of  the  thing, 
so  new  to  her,  and  kept  both  the  men  about  her,  laughing, 
talking  and  plainly  admiring.  Out  of  the  corner  of  her  eyes, 
however,  she  saw  Fanny  leave  the  shop  carrying  a  big  can  of 
oil  for  which  she  had  doubtless  been  sent  from  the  home- 
stead, and  not  until  the  Griqua  had  had  time  to  get  ahead 
did  she  suggest  a  move.  Then  she  and  Gwen  (munching 
chocolates)  went  out  of  the  shop  first,  while  the  two  men 
followed,  and  Cecil  was  able  to  speak  a  word  to  her  sister. 
She  felt  curiously  hard,  as  if  she  could  face  anything,  and 
Gwen  looked  up  surprised  as  she  said  in  a  low  voice :  "Thank 
you,  my  dear." 

Gwen  stared  at  her,  and  then  smiled.  "Sorry  I  swore, 
Ces,"  she  said.  For  in  the  moment  of  discovery,  when 
Sinclair  had  gone  for  the  chair,  Gwen  had  whispered  sav- 
agely, "Don't  be  a  damned  fool,  Ces." 

The  sisters  did  not  speak  to  each  other  again  all  the  way 
back  or  even  as  they  went  to  their  rooms  to  change  for  the 
bathe.  Cecil  was  last  down,  in  a  bathing-dress  and  a 


40  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

kimono,  and  carrying  a  towel,  and  she  found  the  two  others 
waiting  for  her  on  the  stoep.  Gwen  was  in  a  one-piece 
costume,  old,  nondescript  in  colour  and  patched,  without  a 
wrap,  swinging  a  towel  and  sitting  on  the  rail,  her  bobbed 
hair  giving  her  a  boyish  appearence. 

"There  you  are,"  she  called.  "You've  been  ages.  Come 
on." 

"You  haven't  been  any  time,  really,"  said  Hugh.  "Gwen's 
no  guide.  She  can  change  quicker  than  I  can." 

"She  won't  when  she's  my  age,"  laughed  Cecil,  "and 
especially  not  within  a  week  of  her  return  from  England. 
And  there's  heaps  of  time." 

"You  must  take  a  parasol,"  said  Hugh,  "if  you  don't  wear 
a  hat."  Gwen,  bareheaded  in  the  sun,  looked  back  and 
agreed,  and  Cecil  picked  up  from  the  hall  a  new  one  from 
home,  of  flaming-patterned  cretonne.  She  had  braided  her 
black  hair,  and  if  she  had  not  known  how  good  she  looked 
as  she  walked  down  the  path,  Sinclair's  eyes  would  have 
told  her. 

He  discoursed  of  bathing  as  they  went  down,  but  she 
hardly  listened.  His  warnings  about  going  out  too  far,  of 
rocks,  of  cross-currents  and  of  sharks,  hardly  reached  her. 
It  was  Gwen's  impatient:  "Really,  Hugh,  you're  too  fussy 
by  half,"  that  brought  her  back  to  present  events.  By  the 
rocks  Hugh  put  down  Cecil's  towel  which  he  had  carried, 
saying:  "This'll  do  for  you,  I  think,"  and  went  round 
another  to  leave  his  own  and  his  cap.  Gwen,  who  had  tossed 
her  towel  to  the  sand  and  had  nothing  else  at  all  to  discard, 
looked  after  him  mockingly.  "Good  Lord,"  she  exclaimed, 
"poor  old  Hugh!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Cecil,  busy  with  her 
shoes. 

"Well,"  said  Gwen,  "I've  bathed  about  a  hundred  times 
with  Hugh.  We  always  chuck  our  towels  on  the  sand  to- 
gether and  go  in.  But  to-day,  he  walks  off  round  a  rock, 
smiling  like  a  mandarin." 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  41 

"Don't  be  silly,  Gwen,"  said  Cecil,  tucking  her  hair  into 
her  cap,  and  glancing  sideways  at  her. 

Gwen  met  her  eyes  boldly,  but  there  was  no  laughter  in 
them.  "No,"  she  said,  "I  won't  be." 

The  sea  was  much  rougher  than  it  had  been  the  day  before, 
and  the  breakers  thundered  in,  giving  no  chance  to  get 
entirely  outside  them  even  if  it  had  been  safe.  Though 
without  surf-boards,  they  got  the  greatest  fun  out  of  surfing. 
You  wait  just  beyond  the  breaking  point  of  a  wave,  and,  as 
it  picks  you  up,  throw  yourself  forward  into  it,  hands 
extended  before  you  and  head  down.  If  you  are  bold 
enough,  it  will  sweep  you  right  up  the  beach,  the  air  and 
water  bubbling  in  your  ears  and  your  skin  tingling  with  its 
power.  After  a  few  attempts,  Cecil  excelled  at  this.  She 
loved  swimming  passionately,  and  had  no  fear.  Her  lithe 
young  body  shot  fearlessly  into  the  wave  and  seemed  to  be  a 
mere  cork  upon  it.  And  the  surfing  gave  her  the  one  moment 
of  the  bathe  which  she  never  forgot. 

Hugh  had  ridden  a  wave  before  her  and  had  not  landed 
when  she  started.  Moreover,  unnoticed  by  either  of  them, 
a  third  came  right  on  the  heels  of  the  other  two,  and  not 
only  was  Cecil  carried  forward  blindly  so  that  she  was  on 
top  of  Hugh  before  she  knew  it,  but  also,  as  they  laughingly 
tried  to  recover  their  footing,  this  third  rushed  upon  them. 
Both  were  bowled  clean  over.  Cecil  clutched  Hugh  des- 
perately, her  body  pressed  to  his,  and  Hugh  flung  his  right 
arm  across  her  breast  to  hold  her.  She  was  for  a  moment 
in  the  closest  embrace,  and  even  in  the  roar  and  surge  of 
the  sea,  the  physical  joy  of  it  thrilled  her.  All  her  fem- 
ininity, long  suppressed  or  controlled,  asserted  itself.  Splut- 
tering and  laughing,  the  two  of  them  staggered  up  the  beach 
together,  Cecil  intoxicated  without  knowing  why.  "Oh," 
she  exclaimed,  throwing  out  her  arms  to  the  breeze  and 
sun  and  gazing  at  him  through  the  film  of  salt-water  that 
still  streamed  down  her  face,  "how  divine !  I  feel  like  a 
Greek  goddess.  Oh.  what  a  thing  it  is  to  be  alive !" 


42  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"You  look  like  one  too,"  said  Hugh,  openly  admiring  her. 

"Don't,"  laughed  Cecil.  "It's  impossible  to  live  up  to  it, 
you  know." 

The  night  was  a  fitting  climax  to  the  day.  After  a  late 
tea,  they  all  of  them — Mr.  Eldred,  Cecil,  Len,  Gwen  and 
Sinclair — tramped  off  to  the  boat,  Gwen  carrying  the  grains, 
or  three-pronged  fish-spear,  and  Len  the  lantern,  a  patent 
arrangement  which  gave  a  brilliant  light  with  paraffin  gas 
and  was  perfection  for  the  operations,  except  that  it  needed 
a  good  deal  of  paraphernalia  in  the  shape  of  a  bottle  of 
spirits,  a  sort  of  brush  for  lighting  purposes,  and  a  pump. 
They  walked  along  the  baach  barefoot  on  the  wet  sands, 
with  the  spume  of  the  waves  warm  beneath  their  feet  and 
the  stars  glowing  over  sea  and  land  and  on  the  wet  surface 
before  them.  The  launch  in  the  river  was  a  mysterious 
business,  Cecil  thought,  standing  back  to  let  the  men  and 
Gwen  (in  shorts,  a  diminutive  skirt  and  a  sweater)  do  the 
work.  Then  she  t6ok  the  tiller,  her  father  sitting  by  her. 
Len  pulled.  Gwen  lay  full  length  in  the  bows,  holding  the 
lantern  so  shielded  that  its  light  illuminated  the  water  but 
did  not  shine  on  the  figure  of  Sinclair  standing  above  her, 
the  spear  poised  in  his  arms.  Slowly  and  silently,  Len 
pulled  up  the  broad  stream.  The  cry  of  an  owl  from  the 
banks  or  the  leap  of  a  fish  somewhere  higher  up  alone  broke 
a  silence  that  did  not  seem  disturbed  by  the  ceaseless 
distant  roar  of  the  sea  on  the  bar.  Stars  above  and  below, 
they  seemed  to  float  in  a  velvet  dark  between  heaven  and 
earth. 

"There's  one !"  exclaimed  her  father  in  a  sibilant  whisper. 
"Oh  where?"  she  breathed. 

"Sorry;  too  late,"  said  Hugh.  "Watch  the  left,  Miss 
Eldred." 

Another  long  minute,  and  then  almost  magically  as  it 
seemed  to  her,  two  long  silvery  fish  swam  into  the  bright 
light,  all  but  charging  the  bows  of  the  boat,  and  simulta- 
neously Hugh  dived  the  spear  at  them.  "Got  one,"  he 
shouted,  eagerly,  and  pulled  in  the  heavy  weapon  by  the  line 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  43 

attached  to  his  wrist.  Len  leant  back  and  detached  the  fish, 
dropping  it  to  flap  feebly  in  the  boat  at  his  feet. 

After  a  while,  Cecil  took  her  sister's  place,  and  Len  the 
grains.  With  all  his  skill,  he  was  less  successful  than  Hugh, 
but  it  seemed  they  were,  if  anything,  too  high  up  the  river 
by  now.  Cecil  felt  she  would  not  have  cared  if  no  more  fish 
had  been  seen,  for  they  had  plenty,  and  it  was  enchanting  to 
lie  there  so  near  the  water  and  gaze  deep  into  its  lit  depths, 
seeing  weed  swaying  with  the  current,  and  tiny  fish,  and  now 
and  again  the  bigger  mullet.  However  they  turned  and  her 
father  took  the  spear,  she  and  Hugh  sitting  together  on  the 
rudder-seat.  And  near  the  bar,  its  thunder  in  her  ears,  she 
almost  started  as  Sinclair  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "Look," 
he  said ;  "over  there,  to  the  right." 

She  half  turned  and  looked. 

"Oh,"  she  gasped,  "how  marvellous !" 

The  African  moon  was  sailing  into  view  over  the  kopjes 
on  the  Pondoland  side.  While  they  watched,  the  serene 
light  flooded  the  trees  on  the  opposite  bank  and  fell  on  the 
placid  river,  save  where  the  great  shadows  rested,  in  one  of 
which  they  lay.  Out  to  sea,  it  fell  on  the  spray  and  shone 
in  a  luminous  mist.  And  even  while  they  watched,  their  boat 
glided  out  of  the  darkness  into  that  silver  light,  and  Hugh 
took  his  hand  from  her  arm. 

"That's  all,"  said  Mr.  Eldred.  "We  shan't  catch  more 
to-night.  Pull  in,  Len.  Well,  Cecil,  enjoyed  it?" 

She  nodded,  almost  afraid  to  speak  lest  she  should  shatter 
a  dream. 


CHAPTER  IV 

CECIL  was  not  as  yet  given  to  introspection,  but  she  was 
getting  into  the  bad  habit.  This  morning,  with  Hugh 
Sinclair  (whose  stay  had  been  prolonged  a  week)  three  days 
gone,  she  was  lying  in  a  hammock  which  he  had  hung  for 
her,  and  pretending  to  read.  Hugh  had  chosen  a  place  on 
the  edge  of  the  pine  plantation,  sufficiently  far  from  the 
house  to  be  out  of  the  sound  of  ordinary  doings  there,  and 
yet  within  call.  The  trees  murmured  above  her,  their  thin 
needles  rustling  gently  together  as  if  they  whispered  of  days 
in  far  Madagascar,  and  she  lay  well  within  their  shadow. 
Yet  the  view  lay  uninterrupted  below  her.  She  could  see  the 
busy  little  stream  tumbling  angrily  among  the  great  rocks  of 
its  course  to  the  sea,  the  bluff  beyond,  and  the  line  of  break- 
ers framed  between  its  bold  outline  and  the  bush  across  the 
lagoon.  On  the  sea,  there  was  not  a  sail  in  sight,  but  two  or 
three  naked  native  children  were  bathing  in  the  shallow 
water  of  the  lagoon  itself. 

Cecil  was  very  far  from  thinking  busily,  indeed  she  was 
perhaps  hardly  aware  that  she  thought  at  all.  If  she  had 
realised  exactly  upon  what  her  thoughts  were  dwelling,  she 
might  have  been  disconcerted,  but  it  was  characteristic  of  her 
in  those  days  that  she  did  no  such  thing.  So  a  flower  opens 
to  the  sun,  it  must  be  supposed,  without  conscious  thought, 
every  sensitive  cell  of  it,  however,  responding  to  the  warmth 
and  light.  Cecil,  then,  was  aware  that  a  fortnight  ago  she 
had  been  a  school-girl  eagerly  anticipating  home,  but  that 
now  she  was  a  school-girl  no  more  at  all  and  that  her  home 
was  already  a  secondary  matter.  She  was  lazily  reviewing 
the  doings  of  the  week,  and  it  was  Hugh  always  who  stood 
out  in  them.  Now  she  was  bumping  into  him  by  the  camp- 

44 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  45 

fire,  and  at  that  she  smiled  to  herself.  Then  they  were 
rowing  up  the  river,  and  she  was  watching  his  firm  strokes 
against  the  sunny  water.  Or  again  they  were  walking  to  the 
store,  riding  together,  sitting  on  the  stoep  in  the  evening, 
choosing  the  place  for  this  hammock,  waving  good-bye  to 
him  in  the  motor.  She  was  not  even  sorry  that  he  had  gone. 
She  seemed  to  have  so  many  memories  of  him  that  it  was 
almost  as  if  he  had  not  gone.  Also  he  was  near,  and  they 
would  soon  meet  again.  She  was  very  sure  they  would ;  not 
meet,  that  is,  as  one  met  other  people,  but  meet  soon  to  re- 
sume the  friendship  that  was  already  established  between 
them. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  her  thinking  became  less  definite 
than  before.  She  did  not  ask  herself  if  she  were  in  love 
with  him,  for  the  simple  reason  that  she  had  never  loved 
anybody,  other  than  her  own  people,  and  had  as  it  were  no 
test  possible.  She  honestly  did  not  yet  know  what  love  was. 
She  had,  of  course,  read  novels  and  talked  of  it  to  girls  to 
some  extent,  but  never  seriously.  Love  and  marriage  were 
simply  one  thing  to  her,  and  a  simple  matter  at  that.  You 
fell  in  love  and  you  married,  that  was  all.  Why  you  mar- 
ried, necessarily,  because  you  were  in  love,  did  not  present 
itself  as  a  subject  of  definite  thought  at  all.  And  Cecil  was 
not  a  fool  in  all  this,  but  merely  a  very  jolly  simple  girl  who 
had  lived  for  nineteen  years  without  ever  looking  on  life. 
She  had  come  from  a  school  in  reality  more  secluded  than  a 
convent  to  find  herself  suddenly  a  woman  admired  and  ad- 
miring. The  very  gay  robustness  of  her  school-days  made 
the  contrast  more  startling.  At  "The  Lindens"  there  was, 
for  well  or  ill,  no  time  to  think  of  such  things.  Even  the 
mere  sight  of  nuns  and  the  vigilance  of  a  convent  might 
make  one  wonder  what  it  was  all  for,  but  at  "The  Lindens" 
there  was  nothing  to  wonder  about. 

Just  then  Gwen  passed  below  her,  taking  the  path  to  the 
fruit  garden  across  the  spruit.  Gwen  did  not  see  her  and 
was  walking  slowly,  swinging  a  basket.  Cecil  lazily  contem- 
plated her,  and  then  a  little  frown  gathered  at  the  corners  of 


46  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

her  eyes.  She  wondered  how  Gwen  would  like  "The  Lin- 
dens." She  had  liked  it,  but  she  was  suddenly  aware  how 
intensely  she  would  dislike  going  back.  But  what  about 
Gwen?  It  was  rather  like  caging  a  wild  bird,  Cecil  thought. 
But  why  did  she  think  of  Gwen  as  a  wild  bird?  Just  be- 
cause she  roamed  at  large  and  did  lessons  more  or  less  when 
she  wanted  to  do  them?  No,  it  was  not  quite  that.  It  was 
all  rather  puzzling. 

Hugh.  Gwen.  Cecil  set  them  both  before  her.  If  Gwen 
had  not  known  Hugh,  she  might  have  liked  "The  Lindens." 
But  she  did  know  Hugh,  and  Cecil  was  not  even  sure  how 
much  she  knew  him.  It  was  utterly  ridiculous,  of  course,  a 
mere  girl  and  a  man  of  thirty,  but  then  Gwen  was  so  old  for 
her  years.  Did  Gwen  love  Hugh? 

Cecil  became  aware  that  her  world  stood  still  at  the 
thought.  But  after  all,  why  should  she  not?  Or  why  should 
she  ?  A  marriage  between  them  struck  her  as  absurd,  and  if 
no  marriage  was  in  the  question,  then  where  did  love  come 
in?  And  then,  like  an  arrow  that  struck  her  entirely  un- 
awares, she  had  another  remembrance.  She  all  but  felt  the 
surf  boiling  and  thundering  about  her,  and  the  clasp  of 
Hugh's  arm — its  touch  across  her  breast.  The  colour  flooded 
her  face,  and  she  half  sat  up  to  pull  at  a  cushion.  "How 
perfectly  absurd,"  she  said  aloud. 

As  if  in  immediate  reply,  a  low  chuckle  of  a  laugh  sounded 
behind  her.  "Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  startled,  and  turned 
swiftly  to  see  who  had  thus  come  upon  her  unawares.  And 
it  was  thus  that  Cecil  Eldred  and  Pamela  Urfurd  came  face 
to  face.  The  high  gods  arranged  it  so. 

Cecil  saw  a  girl  not  much  more  than  her  own  age.  (Pa- 
mela was,  in  fact,  two  years  older.)  She  wore  riding  breeches 
and  a  long  covert  coat,  and  her  light  brown  rather  nonde- 
script hair  was  gathered  in  a  thick  short  queue  and  tied  up 
with  a  black  ribbon.  She  wore  a  soft  plain  hat,  and  held  a 
sjambok  in  one  hand  and  a  pair  of  gloves  in  the  other.  Her 
best  friends  never  called  Pamela  pretty,  but  equally  her 
enemies  (of  which  she  had  more  than  her  share  as  life  went 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  47 

on,  especially  among  women)  never  called  her  plain.  It  was 
not  beauty  or  the  lack  of  it  that  you  thought  of  when  you 
looked  at  Pamela  Urfurd.  On  the  whole,  women  tended  to 
be  immediately  and  instinctively  hostile,  while  most  men 
were  instantly  attracted.  Her  nose  was  too  big,  and  had  an 
emphatic  and  undeniable  hook  in  it.  As  for  her  eyes,  one 
rarely  saw  them  fully  open.  They  looked  at  you  provoca- 
tively, and  you  called  them  brown.  But  if  ever  you  saw 
them  really  open,  you  knew  them  to  be  grey.  Women  said 
they  were  hard,  but  no  man  ever  saw  anything  hard  in  them. 
If  there  was  a  hardness  in  them,  it  lay  behind,  and  men  were 
no  longer  reasonable  creatures  when  they  penetrated  so  far. 

Pamela  and  Cecil  were  destined  to  be  great  friends,  which 
as  a  rule  surprised  their  mutual  acquaintances  beyond  words. 
Also  Pamela  loved  Cecil  and  loved  her  almost  at  once,  which 
surprised  them  still  more. 

At  the  moment,  however,  all  these  things  lay  on  the  lap  of 
the  gods.  Cecil  was  merely  aware  that  someone  she  did  not 
know  from  Adam — or  Eve — had  surprised  her  at  an  awk- 
ward moment,  and  that  someone  a  curious  person  who  made 
no  apologies  whatever.  Instead  she  laughed  again,  and 
stepped  forward,  but  making  no  motion  to  shake  hands. 

"I  love  to  surprise  somebody  smashing  at  a  pillow  and 
talking  aloud,"  she  said.  "It  is  an  exposure  of  our  common 
and  frail  humanity.  Do  hit  it  again  if  you  feel  like  it,  unless 
you  prefer  to  hit  me.  I'm  Pamela  Urfurd  by  the  way.  I'd 
have  been  over  before  this,  but  I  was  in  Durban  and  we  only 
got  back  yesterday.  But  as  you  had  Hugh  Sinclair,  I  dare- 
say it  was  as  well  I  was  there." 

Cecil  ransacked  her  memories  of  the  drawing-room  at 
"The  Lindens"  for  a  guide  as  to  how  to  treat  such  a  visitor, 
but  she  found  none.  So  she  said,  feebly :  "How  do  you  do  ? 
You  are  Gwen's  friend,  are  you  not?  I'm  so  glad  you've 
called." 

"I  don't  know  that  I'm  Gwen's  friend,"  said  Pamela,  look- 
ing round  for  a  comfortable  spot,  and  seating  herself,  "but 
I'm  her  nearest  neighbour  unmarried  and  in  skirts.  We're 


48  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

quite  good  pals,  however.  Of  course  I  like  her  very  much, 
but  she  is  so  extraordinarily  childish.  I'm  very  glad  you've 
come  home." 

"I've  been  thinking  how  grown-up  she  is,"  said  Cecil. 

Pamela's  eyes  narrowed  still  more,  and  from  under  the 
half-closed  lids  she  regarded  Cecil  in  silence  for  a  second. 
"Oh  do  you,"  she  said,  as  if  that  explained  a  good  deal. 
"She  seems  to  me  merely  an  amazingly  natural  kind  of  ani- 
mal. I'm  afraid  you  may  think  it  rude,  as  she's  your  sister, 
but  she  always  reminds  me  of  a  native.  People  say  you  can't 
tell  what  a  native  is  going  to  do,  but  of  course  that  is  absurd. 
You  can  tell  even  better  than  you  can  what  a  child  or  a  beast 
will  do.  So  long  as  a  child  is  a  child,  it  may  always  surprise 
you.  All  its  characteristics  have  not  arisen  from  the  depths. 
As  for  an  animal,  it  is  not  always  easy  to  know  what  their 
instinct  will  teach  them  to  do  in  an  emergency.  But  a  native 
is  like  a  child  for  whom  the  day  of  surprises  is  past  and  yet 
it  has  not  ceased  to  be  a  child,  and  like  an  animal  whose  in- 
stincts have  been  sufficiently  long  under  observation  to  be 
known.  You  can  control  both  with  this."  And  she  slashed 
lightly  at  the  ground  with  her  sjambok  as  she  spoke. 

Cecil  was  so  interested  that  she  entirely  forgot  to  be  sur- 
prised that  such  should  be  their  conversation  within  a  few 
seconds  of  their  first  meeting.  "Do  you  really  understand 
natives  ?"  she  said. 

That  was  not  in  the  least  what  she  literally  meant  to  say, 
but  Pamela  characteristically  answered  her  thoughts.  "You 
don't  understand  them  because  you  are  just  from  England 
and  from  school,"  she  said.  "I  don't  wonder.  I  was  at  a 
school  in  England  just  nine  months,  and  then  I  left.  I  had 
to.  I  should  have  gone  mad  there.  The  English  girls'  school 
system  strikes  me  as  one  of  the  most  diabolically  clever  insti- 
tutions conceivable.  Don't  you  think  it  is?" 

Cecil  laughed  heartily.  "No,"  she  said,  "I  can't  say  I  ever 
thought  that.  I  enjoyed  myself  immensely — in  a  way.  Now, 
though,  I'm  beginning  to  be  very  glad  it's  over.  I  don't  want 
to  go  back,  you  know." 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  49 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  Pamela.  "I  imagine  that  a 
girls'  school  has  a  great  deal  in  common  with  a  private 
lunatic  asylum  where  all  the  attendants  are  most  kind,  and 
everything  is  very  nice,  and  the  inmates  are  all  but  allowed 
to  do  what  they  like;  but  for  all  that,  there  are  bolts  and 
bars,  and  every  influence  is  being  brought  to  bear  to  change 
the  essential  characteristic  madnesses  of  the  patients  into  the 
normal  madness  of  the  world.  A  girls'  school,  such  as  you 
and  I  went  to,  is  to  prepare  her  for  a  civilised  and  if  possible 
domestic  existence.  If  she  can  be  brought  to  the  present 
standard  of  manners,  developed  as  perfectly  as  possible  (so 
long  as  her  sexual  development  is  not  developed  too)  and 
then  turned  out,  blind  to  half  the  passions  of  the  world  and 
ignorant  of  all  its  vices,  to  marry  a  nice  young  man  as  quickly 
as  possible  and  have  a  sufficiency  of  babies  (with  medical 
assistance)  and  never  grow  discontented  with  'home  life,' 
then  the  ideal  is  attained.  Hence  a  little  French  and  German, 
a  smattering  of  history  and  geography  and  arithmetic,  music, 
gymnasium  and  games — all  nice  and  merry  and  busy  and 
clean  all  the  time — that  is  your  school.  They  say  if  you  shut 
a  sane  person  up  in  a  lunatic  asylum,  he  goes  insane  too.  So 
I  should  have  gone  insane.  But  I  came  away  in  time,  thank 
God.  Father  never  refuses  me  anything,  and  mother's  dead 
you  know.  She  died  when  I  was  a  baby.  I'm  sorry  some- 
times, but  then  sometimes  I'm  glad.  She  was  English,  and  I 
think  she  would  have  been  conventional  and  have  hated  me." 

Cecil  gasped.  She  always  imagined  that  when  girls' 
mothers  died  in  their  daughters'  babyhood,  they  took  on  the 
proportion  of  saints.  Pamela's  conclusion  seemed  to  her  even 
more  amazing  than  the  rest  of  her  speech,  and  that  was 
saying  a  good  deal.  And  the  stream  of  it  took  away  any 
breath  she  had  left. 

"I  shock  you,"  said  Pamela.  "I  shan't  say  I'm  sorry,  for 
I'm  not,  but  I  hope  it  won't  put  you  off  me.  I've  really  been 
looking  forward  to  your  coming  most  awfully.  It's  true  I 
prefer  men  to  women  any  day,  but  we  haven't  even  got  many 
men  about  here.  I  think  Shenk  is  as  good  as  any,  but  he 


50  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

thinks  I'm  possessed  of  a  devil,  which  he  much  admires  but 
secretly  fears.  Or  perhaps  he  fears  father.  But  anyway  he 
fears.  And  you  can't  be  real  friends  with  a  person  who  is 
afraid." 

"What  do  you  think  of  Hugh  Sinclair?"  asked  Cecil, 
ignoring  this  remarkable  statement ;  and  she  was  still  able  to 
ask  the  question  with  the  utmost  naturalness.  Or  so  she 
thought,  and  so  probably  would  anyone  else  have  thought. 
But  Pamela  is  not  like  anyone  else. 

She  looked  at  Cecil  as  she  sat  there  in  her  hammock,  and 
took  her  in  from  the  crown  of  her  black  hair  to  the  soles  of 
her  brown  brogues.  Then  she  smiled,  with  a  sideways 
glance  of  her  eyes  (which  was  a  trick  of  hers)  and  said : 

"You  and  I  will  never  quarrel  over  Hugh,  Cecily.  I  shall 
call  you  Cecily,  by  the  way.  It's  prettier  than  Cecil,  and 
'Ces'  is  too  awful." 

Cecil  was  somehow  pleased  at  this,  and  she  smiled  back 
at  her.  "Do,"  she  said.  "I  like  'Cecily'  too.  But  I  don't 
understand  you  about  Mr.  Sinclair.  Why  should  we  quarrel 
over  him — or  anyone,  for  the  mattei  of  that?" 

Pamela  thrust  her  hand  into  the  breast  pocket  of  her  coat 
and  produced  a  cigarette  case.  She  opened  it  and  made  a 
motion  to  offer  it  to  the  girl  above  her,  but  Cecil  shook  her 
head.  So  she  selected  a  cigarette  herself,  shut  the  case  with 
a  snap,  and  thoughtfully  tapped  the  oval  white  thing  on  the 
silver.  She  put  it  to  her  lips  with  extreme  deliberation, 
found  a  match,  struck  it  on  her  boot,  and  lit  her  cigarette. 
She  took  two  or  three  sharp  pulls  at  it,  and  then  gazed  care- 
fully at  the  glowing  end.  Then  she  put  it  again  between  her 
lips  and  drew  in  a  great  volume  of  smoke,  leaning  back  on 
both  her  hands  and  staring  up  again  at  Cecil  through  the 
cloud  that  slowly  escaped  from  her  mouth  and  nose.  Simple 
as  it  all  was,  with  Pamela  the  business  had  the  air  of  an 
incantation.  Cecil  had  wit  enough  to  perceive  it. 

She  burst  out  laughing.  "You  look  like  a  sibyl  behind  the 
fires  of  divination !"  she  said. 

Pamela  ignored  this.    "We  shall  not  quarrel  over  Hugh, 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  51 

Cecily,"  she  continued,  "because  although  I  expect  he  will 
fall  in  love  with  you  and  you  with  him — and  quite  probably 
you  have  both  begun  to  do  so  already — I  am  not  in  love  with 
him  at  all,  and  he  will  not  now  see  anything  in  me.  Except 
that  he  will  probably  dislike  your  knowing  me,  it  will  not 
matter.  And  though  I  tell  you  not  to  marry  him,  it  will 
probably  make  no  difference:  I  expect  that  you  will  marry 
him  all  the  same.  But  I  am  not  a  witch,  worse  luck.  I  can- 
not see  hidden  things.  Wherefore,  I  say  we  shall  not  quarrel 
over  Hugh." 

She  spoke  fairly  quickly,  but  it  seemed  to  Cecil  as  if  her 
words  took  a  long  time.  She  had  at  first  flushed,  and  then 
lost  her  colour,  and  then  felt  almost  frightened.  Despite  the 
other's  disclaimer,  Cecil  thought  her  almost  fey.  It  was  as  if 
she  had  been  playing  among  flowers  and  suddenly  seen  a 
skeleton  in  the  grass.  She  was  at  any  rate  aware  that  if 
Pamela  had  been  reading  all  her  thoughts  all  the  morning 
and  then  had  suddenly  shown  her  whither  they  inevitably 
led,  she  could  not  have  spoken  more  truly.  And  yet  the 
words  had  in  them  a  revelation  of  the  future  of  which  she 
felt  totally  unsure. 

"How  can  you  know  ?"  she  whispered. 

Pamela  flicked  the  ash  off  her  cigarette  as  coolly  as  pos- 
sible. "I  expect  that  I  was  a  fool  to  say  that,"  she  said, 
"but  then  you  and  I  are  going  to  be  friends,  Cecily,  and  one 
doesn't  hide  one's  thoughts  from  friends.  My  dear,  it  is  all 
as  plain  as  plain  can  be.  You  are  exactly  the  sort  of  girl 
that  Hugh  Sinclair  will  love.  You  are  the  sort  of  girl  that 
the  schools  want  men  like  Hugh  to  love  and  that  they  manu- 
facture for  them.  He  will  love  your  innocence,  your  igno- 
rance, your  daintiness.  You  will  love  his  breeding  that 
persists  despite  the  life  he  has  led,  and  he  will  seem  to  you  a 
very  proper  man.  And  there  aren't  many  about  here,  you 
know.  Besides,  you  will  suddenly  feel  the  pull  of  nature 
and  turn  to  him  instinctively.  He  will  probably  tell  you  all 
his  sins,  in  the  end,  and  you  will  weep  and  forgive  him.  You 
will  not  tell  him  any  of  your  sins,  for  you  will  not  have  had 


52  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

any  worth  speaking  about — then.  And  you  will  breed  babies 
for  him,  very  content.  It  is  written.  Only  what  it  will  be  in 
the  end  thereof,  I  do  not  know.  I  am  not  old  enough  to 
guess;  and  not  possessing  second  sight,  as  I  say,  I  cannot 
see.  But  that  is  why  I  say  we  shall  not  quarrel  over  Hugh." 

Cecil  had  a  mad  impulse  to  run  away.  She  jumped  out  of 
the  hammock  and  stooped  to  pick  up  her  book  that  had  fallen 
to  the  ground.  As  she  stooped,  she  met  Pamela's  eyes 
watching  her  and  knew  that  she  was  arrested,  though  it  was 
imperceptible.  Instead,  therefore,  she  did  the  very  opposite. 
She  gave  a  little  sigh  and  threw  herself  down  by  the  other 
girl's  side.  "Do  go  on,"  she  said  softly.  And  wondered  why 
she  had  said  it. 

Pamela  had  not  moved,  and  she  continued  for  a  while  to 
smoke  in  silence.  When  she  spoke  again  it  was  almost  to 
herself. 

"I  wonder,  sometimes,  what  it  is  all  for,"  she  said.  "Ac- 
cording to  the  Bible,  man  needed  a  help-meet,  and  God  found 
him  one.  He  gave  him  Eve.  But  Eve  was  no  help-meet  to 
Adam,  even  in  the  Bible,  except  perhaps  outside  of  Paradise, 
where  she  cooked  for  him,  and  slaved,  I  suppose,  and  prob- 
ably herself  invented  something  more  durable  than  fig-leaves. 
Which  always  looks  to  me  as  if  God  knew  that  Paradise 
would  not  last  long.  But  she  was  not  nearly  so  much  his 
companion  as  his  wife.  'He  called  her  name  Eve,  because 
she  was  the  Mother  of  all  living.'  That  rings  true,  anyway* 
She  mothered  his  babies ;  that's  what  concerned  Adam  most. 
And  doubtless  she  was  admirably  fitted  to  do  it.  Even  her 
body  was  made  distinctly  inconvenient  for  any  other  purpose. 
But  what's  the  good  of  living?  We  were  talking  just  now  of 
the  Kaffirs,  and  really  white  people  are  not  so  different  from 
the  Kaffirs  as  they  like  to  think.  Now  you  would  have 
thought  that  the  Kaffirs  would  long  since  have  gone  on  strike 
against  living.  On  our  farms,  they  work  more  or  less,  in  their 
own  way,  from  morning  to  night,  unless  they  are  too  tired  or 
it's  too  cold.  They  work  for  us,  and  when  they  have  done 
working  for  us,  they  work  in  their  own  lands  for  their  own 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  53 

food.  We  give  them  a  sack  or  two  to  wear — to  save  time 
that  they  would  otherwise  spend  sewing  fig-leaves  or  their 
substitutes  together,  I  sometimes  think.  Occasionally  they 
save  enough  to  get  drunk,  but  not  often.  And  when  they  are 
old,  they  still  do  odd  jobs  or  sit  about  in  their  huts  or  in  the 
sun,  waiting  to  die.  Why,  then,  should  they  want  to  live? 
And  yet  every  woman  among  them  wants  babies,  and  they 
breed  like  rabbits — breed  babies  for  the  same  ends  as  their 
own.  And  we  white  people,  we  are  little  better.  We  have 
invented  motor-cars  and  aeroplanes,  new  foods  and  drinks, 
new  sins  if  not  new  passions,  and  all  that  we  use  is  a  hun- 
dred times  more  elaborate  and  a  thousand  times  more  boring 
to  manufacture  than  theirs.  But  what's  the  end  of  it  all? 
Father  says  'the  race  must  not  die  out,'  but  I'm  damned  if 
I  see  why  not." 

Cecil  sat  on  and  said  nothing. 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  Lilith?"  demanded  Pamela 
suddenly.  She  wisely  took  it  for  granted  that  the  other  had 
not,  and  went  on.  "Lilith  was  Adam's  first  wife,  half 
woman,  half  angel, — or  devil,  I  don't  know  which.  It 
would  not  have  mattered  much  to  Adam,  I  expect.  She  was 
all  that  Eve  was  not.  She  was  dark  and  Eve  was  fair.  She 
preferred  to  talk  to  Adam  of  good  and  evil  rather  than 
marry  him.  She  would  never  have  been  the  Mother  of  all 
living.  God  saw  that  she  would  spoil  His  purpose,  I  suppose. 
If  she  had  babies,  they  must  have  been  queer  little  devils,  I 
should  think.  She  bewitched  Adam,  but  Eve  had  the  best  of 
it  in  the  end.  Looking  at  Eve  he  preferred  her  huts  and  her 
babies,  even  with  the  tilling  of  the  weeds  in  the  sweat  of  his 
brow,  to  Lilith's  enchantments.  It  was  curious,  I  think,  but 
true.  And  you,  Cecily,  ought  to  have  had  fair  hair — even 
mine,  and  I  ought  to  have  had  yours."  And  she  laughed, 
her  rare  laugh  that  was  more  a  chuckle  than  a  laugh. 

"What  happened  to  Lilith?"  queried  Cecil,  breathlessly. 

Pamela  looked  at  her  closely,  and  laughed  again.  "Oh,  I 
don't  know,"  she  said.  "According  to  the  Arabs,  she  wan- 
dered into  Africa  and  died  somewhere  near  Kilimanjaro. 


54  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

There's  a  cave  there  that  the  natives  call  after  her  to  this 
day,  so  I  read  somewhere.  I  should  think  Africa  is  merely 
a  euphemism  for  the  outer  darkness  myself.  But  it  is  all  rub- 
bish, my  dear,  or  anyway  that  part  of  it  is  not  in  the  Bible 
and  I'm  sure  you  need  only  concern  yourself  with  what  is. 
That  is  all  Hugh  will  want,  anyway." 

Cecil  moved  restlessly,  and  Pamela  got  out  another  cig- 
arette which  she  lit  from  the  stub  of  the  old  one  without  any 
ritual.  If  Cecil  had  known  her  better  she  would  have  guessed 
that  the  'sitting'  was  over.  But  instead  she  looked  away 
over  the  sea.  "You  frighten  me,"  she  said.  "You've  made 
me  feel  as  if  I  can't  ever  meet  Hugh  again." 

"That  is  entirely  unnecessary,"  said  Pamela.  "And  use- 
less." 

Cecil  started  and  looked  round. 

"Oh  no,"  went  on  the  other  coolly.  "He's  not  now  coming 
through  the  pines,  at  least  not  in  his  bodily  presence.  Doubt- 
less he  is  in  spirit,  and  doubtless  he  will  one  day,  but  not  just 
yet.  He  hasn't  been  to  a  girls'  school,  Cecily,  but  he  is  as 
conventional  as  if  he  had.  You'll  meet  him  once  and  again, 
yet,  my  dear,  and  then  he'll  propose  beautifully.  And  you'll 
go  off  together  and  gather  apples  in  the  garden.  Then  will 
the  voice  of  the  Lord  God  speak  to  you  both  in  the  cool  of  the 
evening." 

Somehow  or  another  Cecil  recovered  herself  at  this. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  she,  "I  don't  really  understand  half 
the  things  you  say,  but  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
talk  like  that  of — of  Mr.  Sinclair.  All  that  you  have  been 
saying  about  us  is  of  course  nonsense,  but  I  hope  to  goodness 
you  won't  talk  like  that  to  Gwen  or  anybody  else.  I'm  sure 
I  don't  know  why  ever  I  let  you  say  such  things  to  me." 

"Cecily,  my  dear,"  said  Pamela,  "when  you  talk  like  that  I 
feel  more  sure  than  ever  that  we  are  going  to  be  friends.  At 
first  you'll  have  to  learn  to  take  me  on  trust,  so  to  speak, 
because  I  can't  break  myself  in  to  people  whom  I  know  I 
shall  like.  But  the  first  trust  is  this,  that  you  can  be  quite 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  55 

sure  I  shan't  talk  so  to  anyone,  least  of  all  to  Gwen.  Gwen 
is — well,  Gwen  is  Gwen." 

"That's  no  definition,"  said  Cecil  curiously.  "What  is 
Gwen?  Do  tell  me." 

Pamela  got  slowly  to  her  feet,  and  Cecil  had  a  revelation 
of  her  surprising  strength  and  grace.  She  rose  without 
touching  the  ground,  but  not  in  the  least  as  if  she  were  per- 
forming a  gymnastic  feat.  "Gwen,"  she  said,  brushing  her 
riding-breeches  with  her  sjambok,  "is  what  they  call  a  healthy 
girl.  She's  run  wild  out  here,  of  course,  but  that  is  all  she  is 
really.  What  she  will  be  one  day,  the  Lord  Who  made  her 
alone  knows,  even  if  He  does,  which  I  doubt.  Probably 
you  find  her  very  different  from  your  school-friends,  but 
that's  only  environment.  She  is  a  girl  still.  You,  my  dear, 
are  a  woman.  You've  turned  the  corner  without  knowing 
it." 

"I  believe  you've  turned  it  for  me  this  morning,"  said 
Cecil,  looking  up  at  her  from  the  ground. 

Pamela  half  started  and  turned  round,  catching  sight  of 
Gwen  as  she  came  back  up  the  hill.  "There's  more  in  that 
than  I  guessed,  my  dear,  I  think,"  she  said.  "But  I  perceive 
the  little  sister  to  be  advancing  upon  us." 

Cecil  got  up  hastily,  feeling,  she  hardly  knew  why,  as  if  she 
did  not  want  to  be  surprised  there.  But  if  she  were  a  little 
perturbed,  her  companion  was  not. 

"Gwen !"  called  Pamela,  "Gwen !" 

The  girl  left  the  path  and  made  for  them.  "Hullo !"  she 
said  to  Pamela,  "you're  here,  are  you?  How's  Durban? 
Been  hobnobbing  with  Ces?" 

"Yes.  They  told  me  you'd  gone  to  the  garden  this  way, 
and  I  came  to  look  for  you  and  found  your  sister.  She's 
been  telling  me  all  about  'The  Lindens'  and  her  doings  in 
England,  and  I've  told  her  that  she  will  be  a  priceless  posses- 
sion in  these  desert  places.  Do  give  me  a  banana,  if  there's 
one  ripe.  Or  better  still  an  orange.  Cecil,  you  never  get 
oranges  like  this  in  England,  do  you  ?  I  remember  trying  to 


56  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

buy  a  pineapple  for  a  penny  when  I  was  there,  and  being 
sure  the  shop-keeper  was  trying  to  rag  me  when  he  said  it 
was  five  shillings." 

The  three  of  them  wandered  up  the  garden-path,  and  at 
the  door  beheld  Pamela's  horse  still  girthed  up  tightly,  his 
reins  held  by  a  piccaninny  in  a  loin-cloth.  Pamela's  face 
flushed.  "You  little  fool,"  she  said,  "why  didn't  you  off- 
saddle,  or  at  least  loosen  the  girth  ?  Here,  get  out,"  and  she 
slapped  him  across  the  thighs  with  her  sjambok. 

The  boy  started  back  with  a  lit,tle  cry.  "Missus  didn't 
say,"  he  said. 

"No,  Missus  didn't,  but  Missus  thought  you  would  have 
some  common-sense, — which  was  stupid  of  her,  I'll  admit," 
retorted  Pamela.  "Well,  it's  too  late  now  anyway.  We'll 
canter  home,  old  dear,"  she  added,  patting  her  horse's  neck. 
"I  suppose  you  ride,  Cecily?" 

"Oh  rather,"  said  Cecil,  "but  of  course  I'm  a  bit  out  oi 
practice.  I  hardly  rode  at  all  in  England,  though  I've  been 
out  most  days  since  I  got  back." 

"Good,"  said  Pamela.  "Gwen,  darling,  do  both  of  you 
come  over  sometime  soon.  Come  to-morrow  if  you've  noth- 
ing better  to  do."  And  she  vaulted  lightly  into  the  saddle. 

"Must  you  go?"  said  Gwen.    "Can't  you  stay  to  lunch?" 

"No  thanks,  I  really  can't.  I  told  dad  I'd  be  back,  and  I 
shall  be  late  as  it  is.  Gee-up,  old  boy.  Ta-ta,  both  of  you. 
And  don't  forget  to  visit  us." 

She  put  her  pony  to  a  canter,  and  rode  quickly  off.  The 
sisters  watched  her  cross  the  yard,  slow  down  through  the 
gate,  and  quicken  up  on  the  veld.  She  did  not  look  behind. 
Pamela  rarely  did. 

"What  do  you  think  of  her,  Ces  ?"  demanded  Gwen. 

"I  think  we  shall  get  on  well,"  answered  Cecil  slowly. 
"But  she's  a  queer  girl." 

Gwen  considered  this  a  moment  in  silence.    Then  she  said : 

"She  is.  She's  a  bit  too  queer  for  me,  I  think.  She  looks 
right  through  you,  for  one  thing.  I  heard  Shenk  tell  Len 
that  he  reckoned  she  had  the  devil  of  a  temper,  and  I  guess 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  57 

he's  right.  Look  how  she  struck  Mafolo.  But  then  she 
loves  her  damned  horses  more  than  her  father  or  anyone,  and 
almost  more  than  herself,  I  think." 

"Gwen,"  said  Cecil,  "you  shouldn't  swear.  It's  a  bad 
habit." 

"Maybe,"  retorted  Gwen,  "but  so  has  Pamela  bad  habits. 
And  yet  it's  not  her  habits  that  I  mind  so  much.  It's  her 
character  I  don't  like,  I  think." 

Cecil  smiled  light-heartedly.  "Gwen,"  she  said,  "you're 
becoming  a  philosopher !  What  characteristic  displeases  you 
especially,  eh  ?" 

Gwen  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  shall  swear  again  prob- 
ably," she  said  comically. 

Cecil  laughed  outright.  "Well,  you  shall  for  once  then," 
she  said. 

"She's  so  damned  ruthless,"  Gwen  answered  instantly. 

Cecil  stood  for  a  moment  staring  at  her.  Then  she  took 
her  sister's  arm  without  another  word,  and  the  two  entered 
the  house. 


CHAPTER  V 

TEN  miles  or  so  inland  from  its  mouth,  the  Umtamvuna 
rushes  through  a  deep  gorge  choked  with  rocks,  and 
makes  there  the  rapids  which  hinder  farther  ascent  in  a 
boat.  A  mile  or  so  above  them,  the  waters  open  out  into 
a  small  and  more  or  less  placid  stream,  and  here,  high  up 
on  the  slope  of  a  hill,  stands  Three  Springs.  For  the  most 
part,  bush  and  plantations  of  trees  make  thick  cover  between 
it  and  the  river,  and  indeed  the  farm  is  almost  hidden  in 
tangled  woods.  There  are  lands  and  pastures  behind,  how- 
ever, and  the  view  from  the  stoep  is  magnificent,  for  you 
can  see  an  open  reach  of  the  river,  although  a  curve  hides 
its  mouth,  and  the  sea  beyond;  but  as  you  ride  to  it  from 
Elandskop,  you  appear  to  be  losing  yourself  in  semi-tropical 
forest  rather  than  approaching  cultivated  ground. 

Cecil  riding  there  with  Gwen,  old  Jacob  in  attendance, 
a  week  or  so  later,  thought  so,  at  any  rate.  "Are  you  sure 
this  is  right,  Gwen?"  she  asked.  "This  track  looks  as  if  a 
carriage  never  passed  over  it,  and  we  must  have  come  miles 
now." 

"Yes,  it's  right,"  said  Gwen,  flicking  at  the  overhanging 
boughs  of  trees  with  her  whip.  "Still  I  admit  you  might 
not  think  so.  And  besides,  a  carriage  hardly  ever  does 
come  this  way.  If  Mr.  Urfurd  goes  out  at  all,  which  is  not 
often,  he  drives  a  two-seater  as  if  he  were  out  for  a  race." 

"What,  on  this  path  ?"  demanded  Cecil. 

"Oh  no.  There's  a  way  out  to  the  main  road,  behind  the 
house,  and  through  the  lands.  You'll  see  when  we  get  there. 
Mr.  Urfurd  motors  that  way.  He  nevej  troubles  about  this. 
7  think  it's  because  he  doesn't  want  visitors,  for  of  course 
this  is  by  far  the  nearest  way  from  Harding  and  the  Shep- 

58 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  59 

stone  road.  So  he  lets  the  place  get  overgrown  as  a  polite 
way  of  saying  that  he's  not  at  home  to  callers.  Even  Pam 
doesn't  very  often  come  down.  Either  she  motors  with  Mr. 
Urfurd,  or  else  she  wanders  off  into  Pondoland  across  the 
river.  She  loves  natives.  She  talks  about  five  or  six  of 
their  languages,  you  know,  and  never  seems  the  least  afraid 
of  going  among  the  villages  alone  at  all  hours.  Yet  you 
remember  how  she  hit  Mafolo;  well,  she  treats  them  all 
like  that.  Daddy  says  she'll  get  into  trouble  one  day,  and 
he  can't  understand  why  Mr.  Urfurd  allows  her  to  go  out 
so  much  by  herself.  But  then  daddy  doesn't  understand 
Mr.  Urfurd." 

"You  sound  as  if  you  did,"  said  Cecil,  amused. 

"Well,  I  think  I  do,"  replied  her  sister.  "Daddy's  keen 
on  his  farm  and  on  us,  but  Mr.  Urfurd  cares  for  nothing 
except  his  books.  He  lives  in  his  library,  and  really  he 
hardly  farms  at  all.  He  was  here  before  most  of  us,  too, 
you  know;  indeed  I  think  he  is  bored  now  because  we've 
all  crept  nearer  and  nearer  to  him.  Still  he's  quite  nice 
when  you  meet  him — not  a  bit  of  a  mystery,  like  I  used  to 
hope  he  would  be.  But  he  doesn't  worry  about  anything, 
or  care  about  anything.  He  and  Pam  are  a  good  deal  alike. 
Pam  wants  to  go  about,  and  she  goes;  he  doesn't,  and  he 
stops  at  home.  And  that's  the  end  of  it." 

"Who  does  the  housekeeping  for  this  extraordinary 
family?"  asked  Cecil. 

"Oh  Pam,  of  course.  In  a  way  she's  awfully  clever  at  it. 
They've  got  an  old  Hottentot  woman  for  a  cook — Auntie 
Tot,  they  call  her,  and  she  gives  me  the  creeps ;  but  she  can 
cook.  Pam  orders  things  and  she  cooks  them.  I  like  the 
house  too.  I'm  sure  Mr.  Urfurd  never  cares  a  scrap  if  it's 
clean  or  dirty,  pretty  or  not,  but  Pam  does.  She  bosses  up 
the  boys,  and  though  it's  very  quaint,  it's  nice.  They  must 
have  plenty  of  money,  for  they  don't  make  it  out  of  the 
farm." 

"You  make  me  quite  keen  to  get  there.  How  much 
further  is  it  r" 


60  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"Let's  canter,  then;  we  can  here.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  house  is  tlwe" — and  Gwen  pointed  with  her  whip  at 
right  angles  to  the  path  and  into  a  wall  of  vegetation — "but 
you  can't  see  it.  It's  on  a  knob  of  rock.  We  have  to  skirt 
in  front  of  it,  and  then  come  at  it  from  the  river  side.  Come 
on."  And  she  put  her  horse  to  the  canter. 

Cecil  followed  more  slowly.  It  was  stifling  hot  under 
the  trees  and  she  was  glad  of  the  breeze  from  the  motion; 
it  was  queerly  silent,  too,  at  mid-day,  and  the  noise  of  the 
horses'  hoofs  on  the  leaves  and  sticks  beneath  them  was 
pleasant.  Gwen  was  soon  fifty  yards  in  front  and  presently 
swung  round  a  corner  out  of  sight.  When  Cecil  reached  the 
place,  she  saw  that  here  they  left  the  forest  almost  as  if 
riding  out  of  a  tunnel,  and  that  before  her,  bright  in  the 
sunlight,  lay  a  rough  hill-side.  Out  on  to  this  she  rode, 
looking  for  Gwen,  and  heard  a  shout  on  her  right.  Then 
she  reined  up  a  minute  in  astonishment. 

The  path  wound  up  an  incline  at  the  top  of  which  was 
the  house.  Seen  from  here,  it  appeared  to  lie  in  an  enclo- 
sure of  forest  only  open  on  this  side,  where,  a  few  yards 
from  a  raised  stoep,  a  dozen  steps  had  been  cut  in  the  rock 
to  reach  the  track  below.  Yet  those  few  yards  were  a  blaze 
of  colour,  and  masses  of  yellow  creeper  crept  up*  the  pillars 
of  the  stoep.  The  track  itself  divided  at  the  corner  of  the 
rock  and  Gwen  was  already  dismounting.  Below  her,  Cecil 
could  see  that  the  rolling  slope  ran  down  to  the  river,  and 
skirted  the  forest.  But  she  hardly  turned  to  see,  giving  her 
reins  a  little  shake  and  riding  up  to  her  sister. 

Here  Jacob  took  the  bridles  and  set  about  loosening 
girths.  The  sisters  made  their  way  to  the  steps  and  mounted 
them.  On  the  stoep  itself  Gwen  turned.  "What  do  you 
think  of  that?"  she  demanded. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  wonderful  situation.  Over  the  heads 
of  waving  forest-trees,  one  looked  to  the  shining  reach  of 
the  river  below  the  rapids  with  the  sea  beyond.  On  the 
left,  in  the  direction  of  Harding  and  Elandskop,  there  was 
nothing  but  a  wall  of  forest.  To  the  right,  the  hillside 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  61 

sloped  to  the  river  and  there  was  an  uninterrupted  view 
right  out  and  across  it  into  Pondoland.  There,  rolling 
hills  and  valleys  hid  the  native  villages  for  the  most  part, 
but  allowed  you  to  look  far  across  them  to  a  blue  and  dis- 
tant range. 

There  was  no  one  apparently  about.  Gwen  crossed  the 
•stoep  familiarly  enough,  and  entered  French  doors  that 
stood  wide  open,  but  there  was  no  one  there  either.  "I'll 
go  and  look  for  someone,"  she  said,  and  walked  across  the 
room  to  a  door  through  which  she  disappeared. 

Cecil  threw  herself  into  an  easy  chair  and  looked  about 
her.  The  room  was  not  unlike  the  lounge-hall  of  some  big 
house  at  home,  and  was  much  better  furnished  than  the 
majority  of  colonial  houses.  There  was  a  fire-place,  for  it 
could  be  cold  up  here  in  winter,  but  it  was  a  huge  open-tiled 
place  in  which  one  could  sit,  with  logs  in  a  wrought-iron 
brazier,  and  wrought  fire-irons  in  a  corner.  There  was  a 
carved  oak  mantel-shelf  quite  bare  except  for  a  great  blue 
bowl  of  white  roses,  and  above  it  a  solitary  portrait  of 
Pamela  as  a  girl  of  five  or  six.  It  was  a  full-length  portrait, 
and  she  was  standing,  steadily  gazing  at  you,  a  curious  look 
on  the  child- face.  Cecil  could  not  make  out  the  expression 
and  got  up  to  see.  The  eyes  seemed  to  follow  her,  know- 
ingly, and  as  if  they  were  a  little  surprised  at  her.  There 
was  a  suggestion  of  a  frown  in  them  and  Cecil  thought  that 
the  picture  was  more  remarkable  than  pleasing.  She  turned 
from  it  and  surveyed  the  room.  It  was  long  and  lofty,  with 
great  doors  at  the  farther  end  giving  on  another  stoep.  The 
floor  was  of  stone,  though  a  profusion  of  skins  gave  it  a 
warm  appearance,  and  there  were  a  number  of  immense 
and  easy  chairs  about,  with  two  or  three  firm-looking  little 
tables  strewn  with  books  and  magazines  and  vases  of 
flowers.  Rather  nearer  to  her  than  in  the  centre  was  an 
oval  oak  gate-legged  table,  bare  except  for  a  great  ham- 
mered metal  rose-bowl  full  of  more  roses,  but  red  this  time. 
The  walls  were  panelled,  and  carried  little  other  than  candle- 
sticks and  a  hunting  trophy  or  two.  In  a  far  corner  on  a 


62  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

pedestal  was  a  marble  figure,  and  Cecil  walked  over  to  see 
it.  It  was  a  copy  of  Dillon's  "Grief"  from  Brussels,  though 
she  did  not  know  it.  But  the  pathetic  hopeless  sorrow  of 
the  kneeling  girlish  figure,  and  the  strewn  petals  of  the 
flower  she  held,  brought  momentary  tears  to  Cecil's  eyes. 
Here  was  no  abandonment  to  grief,  but  only  empty  help- 
less despair  and  stricken  listlessness. 

The  sound  of  steps  on  the  stoep  made  her  turn  round. 
It  was  Gwen.  "I  can't  find  anyone,"  she  announced. 
"Auntie  Tot  is  bringing  tea,  though,  and  she  says  she  thinks 
Pam  went  down  to  the  river.  Mr.  Urfurd  is  out — he's 
motored  into  Harding,  she  says.  What  do  you  think  of  this 
room  ?" 

"I  like  it,"  said  Cecil. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  do,"  said  Gwen.  "It  gives  me  the 
creeps  somehow.  It's  not  quite  human.  There  isn't  a  photo- 
graph about,  and  the  people  who  use  it  apparently  never 
do  anything  but  read  or  smoke.  I  may  as  well  do  that  any- 
how." And  she  walked  to  a  little  table  on  which  stood  a 
silver  cigarette  box,  and  helped  herself. 

Cecil  laughed.  "It's  certainly  not  your  room  or  mine," 
she  said,  "but  for  all  that  I  like  it.  It  must  be  a  big  house, 
Gwen." 

"It  is.  Mr.  Urfurd's  study  is  pretty  well  as  big  as  this. 
Come  and  see." 

"Oh,  we  mustn't,"  protested  Cecil.  "Suppose  Pamela 
comes  back." 

"She's  not  likely  to,  and  if  she  does,  it  won't  matter.  We 
can  say  we  were  looking  for  her.  Come  on." 

She  led  the  way  out  by  the  door  opposite  the  central 
stoep,  and  Cecil  followed  her.  They  found  themselves  in  a 
passage  which  ran  the  length  of  the  house.  Gwen  pointed 
to  the  right.  "Drawing-room  there,"  she  said  sotto  voce; 
"hardly  ever  used,"  and  turned  to  the  left.  A  door  farther 
down  stood  closed,  and  she  opened  it  and  peeped  in.  "No 
one  visible,"  she  said,  and  went  in.  Cecil  followed. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  63 

It  was,  indeed,  a  library.  One  great  bay  window  gave 
a  view  over  the  forest  and  by  means  of  skilful  felling  here 
and  there,  a  glimpse  of  the  sea  had  been  obtained.  Isolated 
in  it,  stood  a  desk  littered  with  papers.  The  walls  were 
simply  covered  with  books  from  floor  to  ceiling,  and  Cecil 
glanced  at  those  nearest  to  her.  They  were  all  travel  books 
here,  and  books  on  native  life  and  folk-lore,  while  above  the 
shelves  was  a  bronze  at  which  she  stepped  back  to  look.  It 
represented  a  native — a  Zulu — dying  after  a  fight,  and  was 
amazingly  well  done.  His  broken  assegai  lay  beside  him, 
and.  on  his  left  arm  was  still  his  shield.  His  right  hand 
clasped  his  side  and  between  the  spread  fingers  gaped  a 
wound.  Another  assegai  stood  as  if  quivering  yet  in  the 
ground  by  him,  but  he  did  not  heed  it.  He  was  too  intent 
on  dying  to  mind  that  any  more. 

"Beastly,  isn't  it?"  said  Gwen,  who  had  come  over  to  her. 

"It's  not  cheerful,  certainly,"  said  Cecil,  "but  I  shouldn't 
call  it  beastly.  It's  a  fine  work  of  art,  Gwen.  As  you  say, 
the  Urfurds  must  be  rich." 

"Well,  let's  get  back ;  the  tea'll  be  coming.  This  is  where 
Mr.  Urfurd  lives.  He's  writing  a  book,  people  say,  but  I 
don't  know.  He  moons  about  and  reads,  I  think;  I  don't 
believe  he  writes  much,  I'd  like  to  look  at  his  papers,  but 
that  wouldn't  be  fair,  would  it?  Come  on." 

They  went  out  together,  Cecil  giving  a  backward  glance 
and  taking  in  the  rich  carpet  and  the  general  snug  appear- 
ance of  the  room.  It  impressed  her  rather,  and  she  began 
to  wish  Mr.  Urfurd  had  not  been  out  But  back  in  the 
lounge,  Auntie  Tot  was  bringing  in  the  tea,  and  she  wanted 
that  more  than  anything  at  the  moment. 

Auntie  Tot  was  a  curious  little  wizened  body  with  very 
sharp  beady  eyes.  She  looked  Cecil  up  and  down  and 
nodded  approvingly,  but  so  openly  that  Cecil  laughed.  The 
old  woman  smiled  back  at  her,  but  she  did  not  speak.  But 
it  seemed  to  Cecil  as  if  something  ought  to  be  said.  "Good- 
morning,"  she  said,  "and  thank  you  so  much  for  the  tea.  I 


64  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

did  want  it,  after  our  ride.  Did  Miss  Pamela  say  what 
time  she  would  be  back?  Or  Mr.  Urfurd?  We  are  sorry 
to  miss  them  both." 

"No,  Missus,"  said  the  old  woman.  "Miss  Pamela,  she 
be  in  to  lunch,  I  know,  but  I  don't  think  before.  Won't  you 
off-saddle?  Missus  will  be  angry  if  she  finds  you  have 
gone." 

•     Cecil  looked  irresolutely  at  Gwen.    "What  do  you  think  ?" 
she  asked. 

"I  don't  see  why  not,"  said  Gwen.  "I  like  an  hour  or 
two  here ;  there's  so  much  to  see.  Yes,  let's  wait.  Right-ho, 
Auntie  Tot,  we'll  stay."  And  she  picked  up  a  Bystander 
and  threw  herself  into  a  big  chair. 

Cecil  turned  to  the  old  servant.  "Well,  thank  you,"  she 
said  smiling,  "we'll  stay.  Will  you  tell  Jacob — our  boy — to 
off-saddle?  He  went  round  to  the  back  with  the  horses." 

She  walked  over  to  the  table  and  poured  out  some  tea, 
taking  a  cup  to  Gwen,  and  her  own  out  to  the  stoep.  It 
was  delicious  there.  A  cool  breeze  blew  up  from  the  sea 
and  the  far-away  distant  mountains  looked  lovely.  Cecil 
gave  herself  up  to  dreams  of  them,  wondering  what  they 
would  be  like  if  one  were  there,  and  imagining  the  native 
villages  on  the  slopes  and  the  hidden  native  life.  Within, 
Gwen  moved  restlessly  about,  glancing  quickly  through 
magazines  and  throwing  them  down  when  done  with,  taking 
another  cigarette  and  some  more  tea.  At  last  Cecil  got 
slowly  to  her  feet,  and  wandered  off  into  the  scrap  of 
garden  before  the  house.  She  saw  that  it  was  cleverly  con- 
trived in  the  very  rock  on  which  the  house  stood,  for  the 
beds  had  been  blasted  out  and  then  filled  with  earth  and 
flowers.  Still  idly,  she  descended  the  steps  and  made  her 
slow  way  towards  the  river,  vaguely  wondering  if  she  might 
not  meet  Pamela. 

The  path  she  was  on  led  her  by  many  a  twist  and  turn 
to  avoid  great  boulders,  but  it  was  plainly  marked  and 
smooth.  Cecil  had  followed  it  for  perhaps  half  a  mile  when 
she  found  that  it  had  brought  her  to  a  rather  queer  place 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  65 

before  which  it  appeared  almost  to  hesitate  before  it  made 
a  turn  and  wound  on  down  to  the  river.  The  ground  had 
fallen  in  in  a  kind  of  hollow  overhung  by  huge  rocks,  in  the 
crevices  of  which  grew  young  poplars  which  shivered  their 
silver  leaves  in  the  sun  and  breeze.  Bushes  growing  thickly 
nearer  the  path  served  to  screen  the  place  still  more,  and 
there  was  one  splash  of  colour  there,  for  a  big  bunch  of 
crimson  aloes  grew  half  way  up  the  little  amphitheatre. 
Partly  meaning  to  see  if  she  could  reach  them,  and  partly 
wishful  to  explore  the  spot  which  looked  curiously  attrac- 
tive to  her,  Cecil  took  a  step  or  two  off  the  path  and  down 
into  the  hollow,  her  foot-falls  quite  silent  on  the  soft 
ground.  But  she  had  hardly  left  it,  when  the  sound  of  a 
yoice  arrested  her. 

It  was  that  of  Pamela.  She  was  speaking  in  short  sen- 
tences, and  though  Cecil  listened,  she  could  make  nothing 
of  them.  Then  it  struck  her  that  the  girl  was  speaking  in 
some  native  tongue,  and,  scarcely  thinking  what  she  did,  she 
walked  quickly  forward  between  the  bushes  and  round  a 
fallen  rock.  Then  she  stood  arrested,  as  she  well  might 
have  been. 

There  was  no  cave,  but  there  was  an  enclosed  rough 
circle  of  grass  and  sand,  overhung  and  shaded  at  the  farther 
end  by  rocks  and  poplars,  and  well  veiled  by  the  bushes 
from  the  path.  Almost  under  the  rocks  themselves  crouched 
three  figures,  and  at  these  Cecil  gazed  half-terrified.  The 
first,  sideways  on  to  her,  was  an  old  native  man,  wizened 
and  grey,  a  kaross  of  sheepskin  thrown  over  his  shoulders, 
who  leaned  forward  on  his  hands  between  which,  on  a 
swept  surface  of  sand,  gleamed  some  white  knuckle-bones; 
the  second,  facing  her,  was  a  native  girl,  sitting  back  against 
a  rock,  her  eyes  wide  open  and  staring  at  Cecil,  but,  as 
she  saw  at  once,  not  seeing  her;  and  the  third,  also  sitting, 
back  to  her  and  facing  the  native  girl,  was  Pamela.  And 
Pamela  was  speaking  in  short  sharp  sentences,  and  occa- 
sionally moving  her  hands  across  the  girl's  face. 

As  Cecil  watched,  she  ceased  to  speak,  and  the  native 


66  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

girl  began  instead,  but  speaking  steadily  in  a  low  monoto- 
nous voice  and  without  a  movement.  The  other  two  listened 
intently.  Cecil,  partly  interested  and  partly  scared,  made 
no  motion  to  interrupt,  but  her  brain  took  in  with  extraor- 
dinary clearness  the  whole  vivid  scene — the  grey  rocks  with 
the  patch  of  scarlet  aloe,  the  blue  sky,  the  yellow  sand,  the 
white  bones,  the  black  skin  of  the  girl,  and  the  old  man's 
grey  hairs  and  dirty  white  kaross.  So  they  may  have  all 
remained  for  perhaps  a  couple  of  minutes,  when  the  girl 
ceased  to  speak.  There  was  a  second's  silence,  and  then 
Pamela  spoke  quickly  in  English,  with  a  ring  of  triumph  in 
her  voice. 

"I  told  you  so,  Sekeke,"  she  said. 

Her  voice  partially  reassured  Cecil.  "Oh,  Pamela,"  she 
cried,  "what  are  you  doing  ?" 

The  old  native  turned  his  head  instantly  and  looked  to- 
wards her,  but  the  other  two  did  not  move.  "Stand  ex- 
actly where  you  are,  Cecily,"  said  Pamela  sharply.  "Don't 
move  on  any  account." 

Cecil  did  not  dream  of  disobeying.  She  stood  silent  while 
Pamela  spoke  again  in  short  sentences  to  the  native  girl, 
and  again  passed  her  hands  across  the  native's  face.  In  a 
few  seconds  the  eyes  flickered  once  or  twice  and  dropped 
their  gaze,  and  then,  quite  suddenly,  she  and  Pamela  got  up 
together.  Pamela  instantly  turned  to  Cecil  and  came  to- 
wards her  holding  out  her  hand,  while  the  native  girl  yawned 
once  or  twice,  glanced  at  the  old  man,  smiled,  and  turned 
to  reach  for  her  blanket  which  she  lifted  from  the  ground 
beside  her  and  threw  across  her  naked  shoulders. 

"Cecily!"  exclaimed  Pamela,  "fancy  you  here!  What 
fun!  Did  you  come  to  look  for  me?  I'm  so  sorry  I  was 
out,  but  I  shall  be  free  in  a  moment  Forgive  me — just  a 
second." 

She  turned  back  to  the  natives.  The  old  man  had  groped 
for  his  bones  and  hidden  them  in  some  skin  receptacle  that 
he  carried.  He  was  standing  now,  his  arm  on  the  girl's 
shoulder,  while  she  had  grasped  a  long  stick  and  was  plainly 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  67 

waiting  to  lead  on.  Pamela  said  something  to  her  at  which 
she  smiled,  and  held  out  a  coin  which  the  girl  took  eagerly 
with  her  other  hand.  Then  the  pair  of  them  moved  off, 
passing  close  by  Cecil  who  shrank  back  into  the  bushes  as 
they  did  so.  The  girl  looked  at  her  gravely,  as  they  passed, 
but  she  saw  then  that  the  old  man  was  blind,  or  nearly  so. 
They  moved  round  the  rock  and  out  of  sight. 

Cecil  turned  to  her  friend.  "Oh  Pamela,"  she  said  again, 
"whatever  were  you  doing?" 

Pamela  laughed  and  took  her  arm.  "You  look  like  a 
queen  of  tragedy,"  she  said.  "Don't  be  so  startled;  it  was 
nothing  much,  though  I  think  it  was  highly  successful.  I 
was  experimenting." 

"Do  explain,"  said  Cecil,  impatiently.  "What  were  you 
doing  with  that  filthy  old  man?" 

"Old  Sekeke?  He  isn't  filthy,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  and 
he's  an  exceedingly  interesting  person.  He's  a  witch-doctor 
who  lives  just  over  the  river,  and  that's  his  daughter.  He's 
been  a  clever  old  thing  in  his  day,  but  that's  getting  over 
now,  for  he's  nearly  blind.  He  can  hardly  see  to  throw  the 
bones — indeed  he  came  to  me  just  now  because  he  had  quite 
failed.  So  I  threw  them  instead — or  that's  what  it  comes 
to.  Oh,  you  needn't  look  so  horrified.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
I  didn't  use  the  bones  at  all.  For  some  reason  or  another, 
they  are  no  use  to  me.  But  I've  a  better  and  more  scientific 
plan :  I  hypnotised  that  girl.  She  told  us  all  we  wanted  to 
know — if  it  was  true,  which  he  will  doubtless  discover  be- 
fore he  speaks.  That's  all." 

"All!"  exclaimed  Cecil.  "Really,  Pamela,  you  are  an 
amazing  person !  Can  you  hypnotise  ?  I  thought  it  was  all 
a  fraud.  And  anyway  I  think  it's  perfectly  beastly  for  you 
to  be  mixed  up  with  horrible  old  witchi-doctors  and  people. 
It  isn't — well,  it  isn't  Christian  for  one  thing." 

Pamela  laughed  her  curious  little  chuckle.  "Really, 
Cecily,"  she  said,  "you  are  the  most  delightful  creature  I 
know.  But  I  won't  have  you  run  down  old  Sekeke,  to  be- 
gin with.  In  his  way,  he's  as  good  as  most  white  doctors. 


68  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

After  all,  what  have  they  to  work  with?  A  knowledge  of 
drugs,  first,  and  then  the  faith  of  their  patients.  Time  and 
again,  it's  the  latter  that  does  the  business.  Why,  in  the 
Spanish  Flu,  I  went  over  to  a  Government  Hospital  in 
Pondoland  to  help.  We  ran  out  of  drugs,  of  course,  but 
the  natives  kept  flocking  to  us,  and  in  the  end,  what  do  you 
think  we  served  out  for  their  shillings?  About  an  ounce 
of  Epsom  salts  in  sixteen  ounces  of  water  coloured  with 
cochineal !  We  couldn't  help  it,  but  it  was  just  as  effective. 
One  old  woman  shared  her  bottle  with  all  her  family,  and 
came  back  in  two  days  to  demand  more  of  the  'strong 
medicine!'  We  told  them  what  would  be  the  effect  of 
Epsom  salts,  and  they  believed,  and  it  happened.  It's  all 
one  and  the  same  with  old  ladies  and  bread  pills.  Well, 
then,  a  white  doctor  has  better  drugs  than  Sekeke,  though 
he  wouldn't  have  if  he  were  limited  to  the  plants  that  grew 
in  his  village.  I  doubt  he'd  do  as  well  as  Sekeke  then.  But 
when  it  comes  to  faith,  Sekeke's  patients  give  him  a  chance 
no  white  doctor  ever  has.  Hence  he's  a  wonder,  is  old 
Sekeke.  And  he  knows  a  thing  or  two  as  well.  He  throws 
bones,  but  in  Bond  Street  they  use  crystals  and  talk  about 
clairvoyance.  Different  methods  for  the  same  thing,  and 
there  is  something  in  both.  But  more  in  Sekeke's,  I  think," 
she  added. 

Cecil  stood  still,  staring  at  her  and  revolving  all  this. 
"But  what  about  your  hypnotism?"  she  demanded. 

Pamela's  face  changed.  "That's  another  story,"  she  said. 
"But  it  interests  me — has  done  for  years,  and  natives  make 
wonderfully  good  subjects.  Especially  Nanea.  I  can  do 
anything  with  her.  And  I  think — oh  never  mind  what  I 
think.  You  wouldn't  understand !  Come  on.  You  must  be 
dying  for  your  lunch." 

"Oh  Pam,"  said  Cecil,  "I  wish  you  wouldn't  do  such 
things.  You're  awfully  clever,  I  know,  but  I  hate  it.  Oh 
do  give  it  up,  Pamela !"  . 

The  other  girl  shot  a  glance  at  her  that  she  rarely  gave 
to  people.  "Cecily  dear,"  she  said  in  a  changed  tone,  "it's 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  69 

sweet  of  you  to  speak  like  that.  But  you're  you  and  I'm 
myself.  I  was  made  this  way.  I'm  sorry  you've  seen  what 
you  have  this  morning,  and  yet  I  don't  know:  I'm  glad  in 
a  way.  I  want  you  to  know  me.  Our  fates  are  mixed,  my 
dear,  and  we've  got  to  face  them  whatever  they  are.  Before 
the  end,  you  may  be  glad  of  me,  Cecily." 

Cecil  stopped  impulsively,  threw  her  arms  round  her 
neck,  and  kissed  her.  She  acted  on  the  impulse,  but  it  was 
a  wise  one.  Pamela  was  startled,  and  made  no  great  dem- 
onstration in  return,  but  it  cemented  their  rapid  friendship. 
Pamela  never  forgot  that  kiss.  Even  now,  she  had  a  flash 
of  her  curious  knowledge,  for  all  she  had  disclaimed  the 
power.  "I  shall  give  kisses  for  that  kiss,  Cecily,"  she  cried. 

The  two  stood  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and  then  Pamela 
made  a  little  movement  as  if  to  brush  something  aside. 
"You  didn't  come  alone,"  she  went  on  gaily,  "did  you?  Is 
Gwen  with  you?  Oh,  good,  but  we  must  hurry  back.  Still 
she'll  be  happy  enough  in  the  lounge,  I  daresay,  smoking 
more  cigarettes  than  are  good  for  her.  What  do  you  think 
of  our  house,  Cecil?  Father's  gone  to  Harding,  but  I  ex- 
pect he'll  be  back  early.  I  hope  he  will,  for  I  want  him  to 
meet  you.  Did  you  get  tea?  Oh,  there's  Gwen." 

They  were  near  the  house  now,  and  Gwen  waved  from 
the  terrace.  "Found  at  last  are  you,  Pam?"  she  called. 
"Auntie  Tot  has  just  been  in  to  see  if  you're  not  back." 

They  met  in  the  garden.  "You'd  never  think  this  had 
been  solid  rock,  would  you,  Cecily?"  demanded  Pamela. 
"Father  must  have  taken  ages  to  make  this  place,  but  we 
both  love  it  now.  Come  in,  and  let's  have  lunch  if  it's  ready. 
Oh  there  you  are,  Auntie.  Lunch  ready?  Yes,  we  shan't 
be  a  moment." 

She  took  them  in  to  her  room  to  wash,  a  pleasant  place 
right  at  the  end  of  the  passage  and  round  a  corner,  for  the 
house  was  built  like  an  L  on  its  side,  of  which  the  long 
bottom  piece  was  lounge,  drawing-room  and  study,  all  built 
facing  sea-wards  on  the  rock,  and  the  upright  contained 
the  bedrooms  running  back  towards  the  forest.  From  Pa- 


70  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

mela's  room  you  could  step  out  on  to  another  stoep,  het 
private  one  she  said,  and  from  it,  in  a  few  yards,  enter  the 
shade  of  the  trees.  But  they  were  thinner  here,  she  ex- 
plained, for  the  first  mealie  lands  lay  behind.  From  the 
end  of  this  verandah,  the  view  allowed  you  to  look  over 
Pondoland,  and  while  Gwen  washed,  Cecil  stood  there  and 
tried  to  make  out  the  scene  of  the  morning's  adventure. 
But  that  was  not  easy.  The  slope  of  the  hill  grew  more 
rough  inland  and  was  all  strewn  with  rocks,  any  of  which 
might  easily  have  been  the  place.  However  Cecil's  eyes 
were  good,  and  she  followed  the  path  and  finally  decided 
on  a  spot.  But  there  was  no  chance  to  ask  Pamela  if  she 
were  right,  as  she  did  not  want  to  speak  of  it  before  Gwen. 

The  dining-room  was  next  the  study,  and  in  keeping 
with  the  rest  of  the  house.  The  stink-wood  table  was  not 
covered,  and  its  polished  surface  threw  up  the  beautiful 
cut  glass  and  the  silver.  A  boy  waited  on  them,  and  served 
a  cold  lunch  admirably.  Pamela  insisted  on  their  having  a 
glass  of  wine,  and  when  the  fruit  was  placed  on  the  table, 
with  cigarettes  and  a  silver  lighter  with  its  spirit  flame, 
Cecil  said: 

"Pam!  How  nicely  you  do  things!  If  I  had  a  house,  I'd 
like  it  to  be  like  this !" 

Their  hostess  laughed.  "Father  says  the  best  part  of 
living  in  the  wilds,  is  that  civilisation  is  all  the  more  enjoy- 
able," she  said.  "I  agree  with  him.  I  don't  see  why  one 
should  always  rough  it.  Probably  one  must  at  first,  but 
most  of  us  stay  long  enough  to  settle  down.  But  it  doesn't 
do  to  get  too  much  attached  to  things.  I'm  always  half 
expecting  father  suddenly  to  pack  up  and  clear  out.  And 
as  to  the  house,  it  wouldn't  really  suit  you,  Cecily.  It's  too 
untidy.  We  do  what  we  like  here,  but  then  we've  only 
ourselves  to  consider  you  see.  Sometimes  I  don't  see  father 
till  dinner,  and  sometimes  not  then." 

"Aren't  you  awfully  lonely?"  demanded  Gwen.  "I 
should  be.  I  always  feel  as  if  this  big  house  were  empty. 
I  don't  mean  of  things — though  even  the  things  give  me 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  71 

that  feel — but  of  people.  Why  you  could  dine  a  dozen 
at  this  table  easily,  and  dance  in  the  lounge.  And  here  you 
are,  all  by  yourself !" 

Pamela  laughed.  "Father  and  I  have  plenty  to  think 
about,"  she  said,  "and  you  can't  be  alone  if  you  have 
books." 

"Can't  you!"  exclaimed  Gwen.  "I  can.  So  can  you, 
Ces;  you  needn't  say  you  can't.  I  like  heaps  of  animals 
and  lots  of  people  and  doing  things,  and  you,  Pam,  you 
like — well,  I  don't  know  what  you  really  like,"  she  said. 
"You're  so  queer.  You  can  ride  and  swim  and  shoot  and 
tennis  better  than  most  of  us,  but  you  don't  ever  seem  to 
do  them  because  you  like  them  particularly.  I  always  think 
of  you  as  sitting  waiting  in  that  lounge  of  yours  for  some- 
thing to  turn  up !" 

"Why  not  say  for  the  fairy  prince,  and  have  done  with 
it,  Gwen?"  demanded  Pamela. 

Gwen  lifted  her  wine  glass,  and  looked  at  her  hostess 
gravely  over  it.  She  did  not  reply  at  once.  Then:  "No," 
she  said  slowly,  "I'm  not  sure  that  you  expect  a  fairy  prince 
either.  Also,  if  he  came,  I  don't  know  what  sort  of  a  wel- 
come he'd  have.  If  he  had  fair  hair  and  a  shining  sword 
and  nice  manners,  like  all  the  princes  in  the  books,  you 
would  surely  snub  him,  I  think." 

"Gwen!"  exclaimed  Cecil. 

"Oh  Pam  won't  mind.  Now  that  sort  of  a  prince  would 
suit  you,  Ces.  He'd  suit  me  too,  I  daresay.  Oh  hark, 
there's  the  car!" 

The  sound  of  the  engine  came  to  them  unmistakably. 
Pamela  leant  forward  and  rang  a  hand-bell.  "Lunch  for 
the  master,"  she  said  to  the  boy  when  he  came. 

In  a  minute  or  two,  a  step  sounded  in  the  hall,  and  Mr. 
Urfurd  came  in.  Cecil  looked  at  him  expectantly.  As 
Gwen  had  said,  she  was  at  once  a  little  disappointed.  He 
was  an  entirely  ordinary  looking  person. 

He  came  in  cheerfully.  "Hullo,  three  of  you !  Why,  it's 
Miss  Eldred,  isn't  it?  How  good  of  you  to  come  over. 


72  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Sorry  I  was  out.  Hullo,  Gwen!  Oh  don't  get  up  any  of 
you,  unless  you've  finished.  'Morning,  Pamela.  Your 
books  have  come." 

"Oh  have  they,  father,"  she  exclaimed,  jumping  up. 
"Where  are  they?" 

"In  the  car.  I  didn't  wait  to  get  anything  out  But 
don't  you  go." 

"Oh  yes,  I  will.  Stefano's  bringing  you  lunch.  'Xcuse 
me  a  minute,  won't  you,  Cecily  ?"  And  she  went  out. 

"Well,  Miss  Eldred,  and  what  do  you  think  of  Africa?" 
he  said.  "It's  almost  as  if  it  were  a  first  visit,  isn't  it?  Be- 
sides, I  don't  think  you  ever  were  at  Three  Springs,  were 
you?" 

"No,  Mr.  Urfurd,"  she  said,  "I  don't  think  I  was.  But 
what  a  lovely  place  this  is!  I've  been  admiring  it  so 
much." 

The  man  smiled.  "Yes,  it's  nice,"  he  said.  "My  girl 
and  I  have  nearly  all  we  want  here.  There's  always  a 
'nearly,'  of  course,  in  life,  as  you'll  find  out  one  day  if  you 
don't  know  it  already.  But  I  must  say,  we  come  as  near 
escaping  from  that  fate  as  anyone,  I  think.  How  are  all 
your  people?  I  haven't  seen  your  father  for  quite  a  while." 

They  chatted  on  until  Pamela  came  in.  She  carried  a 
book  under  one  arm  and  held  another  open  in  her  hand. 
"I  was  right,  father,"  she  said  excitedly.  "Listen :  'The 
figures  in  these  caves' — that  is  Bushman's  Nek — 'are  several 
of  them  human  with  beast  heads,  curiously  reminiscent  of 
Anubis.  So  far  as  is  known,  these  are  unique  in  Africa 
and  certainly  lend  colour  to  the  idea  of  a  migration  of 
Bushmen  from  the  Lower  Nile  and  perhaps  from  the 
mountains  of  Judea.'  'Unique!'  Then  ours  are  a  great 
discovery.  We  simply  must  go  to  Bushman's  Nek  and 
see  these  others." 

"Maybe,"  said  Mr.  Urfurd,  "but  it's  building  a  lot  on  a 
resemblance  to  suggest  Egyptian  influence.  That's  where 
so  many  mistakes  are  made.  Eraser's  books  are  full  of 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  73 

them.  It's  not  a  particularly  remarkable  idea.  But  at  any 
rate,  it  certainly  makes  your  discovery  the  more  interest- 
ing." 

Gwen  glanced  at  Cecil.  "Do  tell  us  what  you're  talking 
about!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  never  saw  anything  like  you 
two!  Who  is  Anubis?" 

"Pamela  apologise,"  said  Mr.  Urfurd  laughing.  "Anu- 
bis, Gwen,  was  an  Egyptian  god  with  the  head  of  a  jackal 
on  a  human  body.  He  was  the  son  of  Set,  and  Set  was 
the  principle  of  Evil,  the  great  opponent  of  Osiris,  the 
man-god  who  rose  from  the  dead  and  became  King  of 
Heaven  and  Judge  of  all.  In  Bushman's  Nek,  near  Under- 
berg,  there's  a  cave  of  paintings  made  by  the  Bushmen, 
and  some  of  them  are  like  this  god.  Well,  near  here,  about 
three  miles  up  the  river,  Pam  has  discovered  another  cave, 
and  in  it  are  similar  paintings.  I  thought  there  were  others 
like  this  in  South  Africa,  but  she  said  she  thought  not.  So 
we  ordered  that  particular  book,  and  you  observe  that  she 
is  right.  Only  I'm  still  against  the  Egyptian  theory,"  he 
added. 

"Thanks,"  said  Gwen,  "but  how  perfectly  thrilling.  We 
must  see  those  caves!  Do  take  us.  Wouldn't  you  love  to 
see  them,  Ces?" 

Cecil  got  up.  "I  should,"  she  said,  "but  we  can't  go 
this  afternoon,  that's  plain.  Perhaps  some  other  day  Mr. 
Urfurd  will  take  us.  Will  you,  Pamela?" 

"Oh  yes,"  she  said,  "if  you  like,  but  it's  a  beastly  climb. 
Wouldn't  photographs  satisfy  you?" 

"No,  no,  no,"  said  Gwen.  "They  won't.  I  shan't  look 
at  them,  Pam.  I  insist  on  going.  Do  ask  us  nicely,  Mr. 
Urfurd." 

Mr.  Urfurd  glanced  amusedly  from  his  daughter  to  Gwen. 
"Miss  Gwendoline  Eldred,"  he  said,  "will  you  honour  us  by 
accepting  an  invitation  for  Saturday  week  at  a  picnic  to  be 
held  in  the  Anubis  caves?  Lunch  at  one  o'clock  sharp  on  the 
river.  Start  from  here  at  eleven.  Miss  Pamela  Urfurd  will 


74  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

lecture  from  two  till  three  on  her  recent  discoveries  and  their 
relation  to  Egyptian  mythology." 

"I  wish,"  said  Gwen,  as  they  rode  home  a  little  later, 
"that  Mr.  Urfurd  did  not  always  make  me  feel  that  he  was 
laughing  at  me," 


CHAPTER  VI 

CECIL  stood  dripping  on  the  shore  before  breakfast  on 
the  Saturday  morning  of  their  invitation  some  ten 
days  later,  when  Fanny  brought  her  down  a  folded  note 
which  had  just  arrived.  The  boy  who  had  brought  it  was 
waiting  for  an  answer,  and  she  read  it  at  once  where  she 
stood. 

"CECILY  DEAR  (it  ran), 

"You  are  to  come  to  us  for  the  week-end,  not  only 
for  the  day — you,  Gwen  and  Len.  I  shan't  take  'no'  for 
an  answer,  because  I  really  can't  remember  when  Three 
Springs  had  a  house-party  for  a  week-end  before.  You  must 
have  bewitched  father,  I  think,  to  make  it  possible.  There 

will  be  a  few  others  here,  including !  so  bring  a  party 

frock  with  you  for  the  evening  which  shall  outshine  us  all ! 
Lunch  here  at  one.  We  shall  ride  to  the  cave,  so  come  in 
breeches,  which  are  also  better  for  caves. 

"Yours  ever, 

"P.  U." 

Cecil  read  it  again  and  laughed  to  herself  excitedly.  Then 
she  looked  round  for  Gwen  and  her  brother,  and  observed 
them  both  some  distance  out,  sitting  on  a  rock  soft  with 
seaweed  and  paddling  their  feet  in  the  water  which  gently 
rose  and  fell  beneath  them.  "Here,"  she  exclaimed  to 
Fanny,  "hold  this.  I  won't  be  a  minute."  And  she  ran 
down  to  the  sea,  plunged  in,  and  swam  out  straight  and 
strong  to  the  rock. 

In  a  minule  or  so  she  was  there,  gliding  in  on  the  swell 
and  catching  hold  of  Len's  feet  to  steady  herself.  "Such 

75 


76  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

fun,"  she  gasped.  "A  letter's  come  from  Pamela  Urfurd 
asking  the  three  of  us  for  the  week-end  instead  of  for  the 
day.  What  do  you  say?" 

"O  topping,"  cried  Gwen.  "And  what  an  event!  I've 
never  stayed  a  night  at  Three  Springs  in  my  life." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Leonard,  "but  I  should  like  to.  Any  others 
to  be  there?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Cecil,  "  'a  few  others,'  Pamela  says.  Then 
that's  settled,  is  it?" 

"I  suppose  we'd  better  ask  dad,"  said  Leonard.  "He 
might  want  me — not  that  he's  the  least  likely  to  now,  though. 
Still,  we  ought  to  ask.  Look  here,  shall  I  go  and  ask  him 
as  it  chiefly  concerns  me,  and  send  a  note  back  for  you, 
Ces?" 

"Oh,  Len,  would  you?" 

"Let  go  my  foot  then.  Want  to  come  up?  Well,  catch 
hold." 

He  gave  her  a  hand  and  pulled  her  up  to  the  flat  weedy 
seat.  Then  he  took  a  long  clean  header  into  the  trans- 
parent water  and  was  quickly  away,  arm  over  arm,  to  shore. 
The  sisters  watched  him  land,  say  a  word  to  Fanny,  and 
precede  her  up  the  beach. 

Cecil  gave  a  little  sigh  of  content.  "He  swims  well,"  she 
said. 

Gwen  nodded.  "We  all  ought  to.  Mother  says  Len  swam 
before  he  could  walk.  Did  you  ever  know  anything  more 
gorgeous  than  this  bathing  place,  Ces?  Look  at  that  bit  of 
white  coral  down  there,  with  the  little  blue  fish  swimming 
about  it.  I'll  see  if  I  can  get  it  up." 

Cecil  caught  hold  of  her  arm.  "No,  don't,  Gwen,"  she 
said,  "I  want  to  talk  a  minute.  It's  a  good  chance.  Do  you 
know  we've  hardly  talked  to  each  other  at  all  since  that  first 
day  when  we  went  for  that  walk  along  the  beach.  Somehow 
it  seems  ages  ago  now.  You  would  have  thought  that  noth- 
ing much  happened  here,  but  instead  of  that,  the  days  are 
full.  There's  hardly  time  for  things  instead  of  its  being  the 
other  way  on.  And  everything  we  do  is  so  jolly." 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  77 

"You  think  so,  do  you  ?"  said  Gwen. 

"Why,  of  course !    Don't  you  ?" 

Gwen  did  not  answer  at  once.  She  began  meditatively 
detaching  little  winkles  and  throwing  them  into  the  sea  at 
the  blue  fish,  who  charged  at  each  one  as  it  side-slipped  down 
to  them  under  the  impression  that  their  heavens  were  drop- 
ping fatness.  "Well,  Ces,"  she  said  at  last,  "it's  all  new  to 
you ;  to  me  it's  all  old.  It's  like  the  weather ;  you  say  every 
day  'splendid !  another  day  of  sun !'  but  we  rather  like  the 
dull  days.  Things  are  jolly  of  course,  especially  a  visit  like 
this  will  be,  but  I've  done  all  the  other  things  till  I'm  tired 
of  them.  At  least,  if  I'm  not  tired  of  them,  I  want  something 
more.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  always  playing,  and  I  want  real 
things.  Life's  not  all  a  game." 

"Real  things  will  come  in  time,  won't  they,  Gwen?"  said 
Cecil. 

"Oh  yes,  I  suppose  so,  but  I'm  beginning  to  want  them 
badly.  You  seem  so  comfortable,  Ces.  You  seem  content 
to  sit  and  wait.  I'm  not  made  like  that,  I  suppose.  Or 
perhaps  your  life  in  England  has  been  so  much  more  full 
than  mine,  that  you  haven't  bothered  to  think  about  anything. 
But  here — oh !  I  don't  know,  but  everything  seems  living 
except  myself." 

Cecil  looked  at  her  gravely.  It  dawned  on  her  that  she 
felt  more  enlightened  as  to  her  sister's  needs  since  her  talk 
with  Pamela.  Gwen  was  sixteen,  and  at  sixteen  a  girl  bred 
in  the  open  African  life  is  a  woman,  and  a  hot-blooded 
woman  at  that.  She  was  nineteen,  but  she  had  grown  else- 
where. 

"Tell  me,  dear,"  she  said. 

"I  don't  know  what  there  is  to  tell  you,"  said  Gwen.  "I 
don't  know  that  I  know  myself — and  yet  I  do.  I  won't  lie 
about  it.  I  know  what  I  want.  But  you'd  be  shocked.  You 
wouldn't  understand." 

"Tell  me,"  said  Cecil  again. 

Gwen  wrenched  off  a  streamer  of  seaweed  and  twisted  it 
round  her  finger.  "All  right,"  she  said  suddenly,  "I  will.  I 


78  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

want  a  lover.  I  want  someone  who  will  seize  me  in  his  arms 
and  kiss  me  till  it  hurts — not  silly  playing  kisses.  I  want  to 
be  his  woman — almost  I  want  to  feel  that  I'm  his  property. 
I  don't  know  why  I  want  it,  but  I  do.  But  I'm  frightened 
of  wanting  it,  Cecil.  It  seems  to  me  terrible,  and  there  are 
so  many  things  I  don't  understand.  No  one  tells  us  any- 
thing. Mother  ought  to  know,  but  she  won't  speak.  I've 
tried  to  talk  to  her,  but  I  can't  somehow — she  never  gives 
one  the  chance.  I  want  to  know  about  men  and  how  they 
feel.  They're  curious  to  me.  When  Harold  did — well,  what 
I  told  you  he  did,  you  know, — I  felt  I  understood  a  little, 
but  not  altogether.  His  wanting  Fanny  can't  have  been  like 
my  wanting — oh,  do  say  something!  I  can't  go  on  alone." 
She  broke  off  with  something  suspiciously  like  a  sob  in  her 
voice. 

Cecil  did  not  speak  quickly  however.  But  she  was  no 
longer  altogether  surprised  at  Gwen,  and  she  was  already 
conscious  that  she  could  hear  such  a  declaration  unhorrified 
as  she  would  have  been  quite  recently.  She  put  an  arm 
round  her  sister's  neck  and  stared  out  to  sea.  At  that  Gwen 
moved  a  little  nearer  and  leant  her  wet  head  on  Cecil's 
shoulder.  Far  out,  a  school  of  porpoises  were  leaping  in 
and  out  of  the  water,  raising  little  fountains  of  sun-lit  blue- 
green  sea,  and  both  girls  watched  them  without  seeing.  And 
when  Cecil  spoke  at  last,  it  was  dreamily,  so  that  she  hardly 
knew  herself  to  be  speaking. 

"We're  very,  very  little  bits  of  a  big,  big  world,  Gwen,  I 
suppose,"  she  said.  "I've  never  thought  of  it  like  that 
before,  but  I  suppose  we  are.  It's  true  that  I've  never  felt 
like  you  do,  or  never  quite  like  what  you  said  just  now,  but 
I  think  I  see  what  you  mean.  Poor  old  Gwen,  it  must  be 
hard.  But  I  suppose  if  we  wait  long  enough  we  shall  under- 
stand. Can't  you  be  a  bit  more  quiet,  Gwen  ?  I  wonder  why 
you  aren't.  Is  there  anyone  you  want  especially  badly? 
Not  just  a  man,  but  the  man.  It  seems  to  me  that  that's 
what  matters.  And  meantime  everything's  so  beautiful  that 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  79 

one  can  be  content  to  enjoy  it  and — and  to  wait,  I  suppose. 
Can't  you  wait,  Gwen  ?" 

The  girl  moved  restlessly.  "I'm  tired  of  waiting,"  she 
said. 

"But  that's  what  I  don't  understand,"  said  Cecil.  "You're 
younger  than  I  am,  and  yet  you're  tired  before  I've  begun ! 
Why  is  that?  There  must  be  some  reason  if  we  could  only 
see  it.  And  surely  most  girls  are  more  like  me  than  you, 
anyway.  They  were  at  'The  Lindens'  I  know — or  I  think 
they  were.  It's  just  because  we've  been  brought  up  so  differ- 
ently, I  suppose." 

"I  suppose  so,"  echoed  Gwen,  but  it  was  plain  that  she 
thought  the  explanation  unsatisfactory. 

They  sat  on  a  little  longer  and  then  Gwen  shivered. 

"Cold  ?"  queried  Cecil. 

"What?"  asked  Gwen.  "Oh,  cold,"  and  she  laughed. 
"Yes,  perhaps  I  am,  though  I  didn't  think  it.  Come  on,  let's 
get  back.  Let's  plunge  together  and  see  who  goes  farthest. 
Get  up!  My  word,  we  shall  be  late  for  breakfast!"  And 
she  got  to  her  feet  gingerly  on  the  slippery  rock. 

Cecil  got  up  slowly  also  and  took  her  arm.  "One 
minute,"  she  said.  "Just  tell  me  one  thing.  Do  you  love 
anyone  in  particular,  Gwen?" 

The  younger  girl  glanced  at  her  irresolutely  for  just  a 
moment.  In  Cecil's  innocent  eyes  she  read  her  complete 
ignorance.  "Love?"  she  queried  far  too  bitterly  for  sixteen 
years.  "No,  Ces,  I  think  I  hate  instead.  .  .  .  Are  you 
ready?  Off!"  And  she  dived  far  out  into  the  still  sea. 

Cecil  followed  her.  On  the  beach,  they  snatched  their 
towels  and  hardly  waited  a  minute  before  running  up  to 
the  house.  But  in  that  minute  Cecil  asked  the  question  she 
had  not  been  given  time  to  ask  before.  "Whom,  Gwen?" 
she  demanded. 

But  Gwen  had  recovered  herself.  "Oh,  I  don't  know," 
she  laughed.  "Shenk  perhaps.  He's  always  calculating  what 
everything  is  worth.  If  he  were  a  Kaffir,  he'd  give  father 


8o  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

twenty  cows  for  me,  I  think.  Perhaps  not,  now  that  you've 
come,  though.  You  might  do  worse,  you  know,  Ces.  He's 
quite  rich  and  is  building  a  nice  new  house  out  of  sight  of 
his  old  store.  You  ought  to  see  more  of  him,  you  know." 
And  Cecil  forgot  to  press  her  point  in  her  amusement.  It 
was  Gwen  who  was  conscious  of  stifling  her  thoughts  and 
her  desire  for  understanding  as  they  climbed  the  beach. 
She  knew  instinctively  that  she  must  do  so. 

At  breakfast  Mr.  Eldred  said  that  he  would  send  their 
horses  over  by  a  boy,  and  that  they  had  better  motor  to 
Three  Springs  as  they  would  have  luggage  and  Cecil  must 
be  fresh  for  the  afternoon.  Cecil  of  course  expostulated 
at  being  treated,  as  she  said,  like  a  London  girl,  but  so  it  was 
settled.  Leonard  drove  the  car,  but  they  took  Mafolo,  who 
was  out  of  his  wits  with  delight  at  the  arrangement,  to  help 
in  odd  jobs.  He  was  very  smart  for  the  occasion  in  a  shirt 
and  shorts,  and  crouched  on  the  foot-board  like  a  monkey. 
Gwen  took  her  camera,  which  was  nearly  as  big  as  the  rest 
of  her  luggage  and  occupied  about  as  long  to  select  and  pack. 
Cecil  had  a  suit-case  of  a  size  that  her  sister  scorned,  but 
then  there  was  that  frock  to  be  considered.  Len  brought 
a  gun  with  him;  and  thus  each  significantly  equipped,  they, 
started. 

There  was  no  question  of  the  lower  track  that  day  in  the 
motor,  so  they  had  to  make  a  big  detour  and  reach  the  main 
road  from  the  north.  Soon  after  the  turning  on  the  right 
to  Harding,  they  swung  round  to  the  left,  and  there,  by  the 
side  of  the  road,  was  another  car.  Its  owner  was  under- 
neath and  only  his  legs  protruded,  but  from  the  make  of  the 
motor  and  the  circumstances,  Len  guessed  their  identity. 
"Hullo,"  he  cried,  "I  believe  that's  old  Hugh!" 

He  slowed  down  and  got  out  laughing.  As  he  did  so, 
Sinclair  emerged,  dusty  and  with  a  big  smear  across  his  face. 
He  smiled  as  he  saw  who  they  were,  but  with  a  rueful 
glance  at  his  hands,  and  advanced  to  the  car. 

"Good-morning,  all  of  you,"  he  said,  but  with  his  eyes, 
Cecil  thought,  most  obviously  on  her.  "I've  had  a  break- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  81 

down.  The  differential's  gone  this  time,  I  fear.  I've  no  luck 
with  cars.  Miss  Eldred,  don't  laugh,  please.  If  you'd  been 
under  the  beastly  thing  half  the  morning,  you'd  sympa- 
thise." 

"I  do,"  she  said,  "but  if  you  could  see  yourself  you'd 
understand.  You're  nearly  as  black  as  Mafolo." 

"Mafolo  will  save  the  situation,  anyhow,"  said  Len. 
"We'll  leave  him  here  to  look  after  the  car  and  take  you  on, 
Hugh.  Hop  in  behind  with  Cecil." 

"Oh  I  can't;  I'm  too  filthy,"  he  objected. 

"Oh  no  you're  not,  Mr.  Sinclair,"  said  Cecil.  "Shed  that 
overall  and  wipe  your  hands  on  the  grass,  and  I'll  forgive 
the  rest." 

"Don't  sit  too  close  though,  Hugh,"  said  Gwen.  "Cecil's 
got  her  new  habit  on." 

They  all  laughed,  but  Cecil  wished  she  did  not  blush  so 
easily.  Sinclair  glanced  at  her  as  he  got  in  and  smiled  as  if 
he  noticed  it,  she  thought.  And  she  was  annoyed  and  pleased 
at  the  same  time,  which  is  disconcerting  at  first. 

"Isn't  this  topping  of  the  Urfurds,"  began  Hugh  when 
the  car  started.  "I  could  hardly  believe  it  when  I  got  their 
invitation.  However  I'm  sure  it's  all  in  your  honour  and 
we  shall  have  a  grand  time.  Urfurd's  a  good  sort,  though 
he  is  a  little  too  retiring.  Have  you  seen  the  house?" 

"Yes,"  said  Cecil.  "We  rode  over  the  other  day.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  this  party  was  partly  fixed  up  then.  Pamela 
has  discovered  a  cave  with  Anubis  in  it — or  something  of 
that  sort — and  we're  to  go  and  see  it." 

"Who  in  the  world's  Anubis  ?"  demanded  Hugh. 

"Oh  I'm  so  glad  you  don't  know !"  cried  Cecil.  "I  hadn't 
an  idea,  and  I  was  afraid  I  ought  to  have  had.  The  Urfurds 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted.  She — or  he,  I  really  don't 
know  which — is  an  Egyptian  goddess,  and  it's  a  painting 
on  the  wall  of  the  cave." 

Hugh  looked  still  more  mystified.  "I  didn't  know  Egyp- 
tians were  ever  down  in  these  parts,"  he  said. 

Cecil    burst    out    laughing.      "Oh,"    she    cried,    "you're 


82  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

gloriously  ignorant!  You  don't  know  a  thing  more  about 
it  than  I  did !  But  it's  my  fault.  I  don't  think  it  is  Anubis 
really.  It's  a  Bushman  painting  anyhow.  But  the  cave 
sounds  awfully  exciting,  and  I'm  sure  we  shall  have  a 
glorious  time." 

"I  shall,  Miss  Eldred,"  said  Hugh,  "or  at  least  I  hope  so." 

"I'm  sure  I  hope  you  do,"  said  Cecil  thoughtlessly. 

"Do  you?"  he  said.  "It  all  depends  on  you.  It  isn't  the 
cave  that  matters  to  me.  I  believe  you  know  that  already. 
Shall  I  have  a  good  time,  Miss  Eldred?" 

The  blood  rushed  again  to  Cecil's  cheeks.  The  car  swept 
swiftly  along,  the  sun  shone,  the  world  smiled,  and  her  heart 
was  glad.  She  told  herself  it  was  all  madness — she  had  only 
known  him  a  few  days! — but  she  could  not  help  her  reply. 
"I  still  hope  so,"  she  said  softly. 

His  eyes  sparkled.  "We're  nearly  there,"  he  said,  "and 
I  shall  be  able  to  see  then,  I  hope.  If  we  ride  to  the  cave, 
do  ride  with  me,  or  if  we  walk,  walk  with  me,  will  you  ?  Do 
promise.  You  can  if  you  like." 

Cecil  leant  back  in  the  padded  car  luxuriously  with  that 
still  delightfully  new  sense  of  power.  "We  shall  see,"  she 
said  gaily,  "but  I  think  we  had  better  change  the  subject 
now,  don't  you?  Do  you  like  motoring,  Mr.  Sinclair?" 

"Oh  I  love  it,"  he  said,  dinging  to  his  seat  as  they 
bumped  over  a  stone.  ("Sorry,"  sang  out  Leonard.)  "But 
I  could  improve  this  situation.  Can  you  guess  how?" 

"A  better  road,  I  should  think,"  laughed  Cecil. 

"And  clean  hands,"  said  Sinclair  as  they  swung  through 
the  gates  of  the  farm.  "Also  a  longer  journey  and  a  smaller 
company.  What  do  you  think?" 

"I  refuse  to  think,"  she  said,  "and  anyway  there's  Mr. 
Urfurd  and  Pamela.  Oh  Pam,  this  is  splendid  of  you.  It 
is  good  of  you  to  ask  us,  Mr.  Urfurd,"  she  added,  shaking 
hands.  "Is  that  Mr.  Shenk  too?  What  a  party  we  are! 
[Who's  the  chaperone,  Mr.  Urfurd?" 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  I've  got  out  of  the  habit  of  think- 
ing of  chaperones,"  he  said  smiling,  "bat  I  suppose  I'm  cast 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  83 

for  the  role  so  far  as  it  goes.  Come  in,  anyhow.  Where's 
your  car,  Sinclair?  We  expected  you  an  hour  ago." 

He  and  Hugh  fell  to  the  rear  talking  of  the  latter's  mishap, 
and  went  off  together  to  get  oxen  and  boys  to  go  for  the 
crippled  car.  Shenk  brought  Cecil  in,  following  the  other 
three,  passing  round  the  house  and  in  at  the  lounge  door. 
There,  Pamela  played  hostess.  "Mr.  Shenk,"  she  said,  "take 
Len  off  to  the  dining-room  and  get  him  an  appetiser,  will 
you,  and  have  one  yourself.  Oh,  but  wait  a  moment.  Cecily, 
what  about  you?  Let's  all  have  one  to  inaugurate  things 
properly.  You  will,  Gwen,  I  know,  being  a  dissipated  young 
thing.  Come,  Cecily,  you  must — a  tiny  wee  mixed  Vermouth, 
my  dear,  and  this  prosaic  earth  will  be  heaven.  No  ?  Well, 
lemonade  then,  anyway.  If  you  two  men  will  go  and  bring 
a  collection  of  glasses  and  bottles  here,  then,  we'll  all  be 
happy  together.  You  look  happy  enough,  though,  Cecil, 
without  Vermouth,"  she  added  under  her  breath.  "Have  the 
gods  been  kind  to  you,  my  dear  ?" 

"Right-ho!"  cried  Len,  boisterously,  "come  and  lend  a 
hand,  Gwen."  And  the  three  went  out  together. 

Cecil  darted  a  glance  at  Pamela  and  threw  herself  into 
a  chair.  "Pam,"  she  said,  "I  feel  absolutely  riotous  already. 
Do  come  and  tell  me  some  more  about  Anubis  quickly  before 
Mr.  Sinclair  comes  back.  I  was  trying  to  explain  to  him  in 
the  car  and  got  into  a  fearful  muddle.  Was  it  a  he  or  a 
she,  anyway?  I  quite  forget." 

"I  thought  you  looked  as  if  you  had  been  talking  mythol- 
ogy," said  Pamela,  slyly,  "but  not  Egyptian.  Are  you  sure 
you  have  not  been  mixing  up  another  deity  with  Anubis? 
Cupid,  for  instance,  Cecily?" 

The  return  of  the  others  saved  Cecil  a  reply,  and  as  the 
drinks  were  in  process  of  being  mixed,  in  came  the  other 
men.  "Good,"  said  Mr.  Urfurd.  "Sinclair,  you  can  do  with 
a  gin  and  bitters  before  lunch,  I  expect.  What,  have  they 
led  you  astray,  Miss  Gwen?  You  won't  indulge  that  habit 
at 'The  Lindens,' I  know!" 

At  luncheon  their  host  outlined  the  plan  of  the  proceedings. 


84  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"I  thought  you  might  ride  down,"  he  said.  "If  you  cross  the 
river  below  the  house  and  go  a  mile  or  two  farther  through 
Pondoland,  you  can  come  out  not  far  from  the  cave.  Then 
tea  and  exploration.  The  boys  have  already  taken  supplies 
down,  and  we  propose  you  dine  down  there  and  walk  back 
afterwards  when  the  moon  gets  up.  Then  there'll  be  some 
cold  supper  here,  and  so  to  bed,  as  Mr.  Pepys  says.  Do  you 
approve,  Miss  Eldred?" 

"It  sounds  perfect,"  said  Cecil.  "If  you  planned  all  that, 
you're  a  genius,  Mr.  Urfurd.  Or  was  it  Pamela?  which  do 
you  suppose,  Mr.  Shenk  ?" 

It  had  been  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue  to  appeal  to  Sinclair, 
but  somehow  she  felt  she  could  not  look  at  him  after  just 
such  an  outline  of  the  walk  and  ride  he  had  hoped  for  in  the 
car.  But  it  was  he  who  replied. 

"It  was  Miss  Urfurd,"  he  said.  "But  tell  me  just  one 
thing  and  I'll  know  for  certain.  Have  you  sent  a  gramo- 
phone down,  Miss  Pamela?" 

"Did  we,  father?"  asked  Pamela  innocently. 

"I  knew  it,"  cried  Hugh.  "Gwen,  I  can't  do  it  myself,  so 
kindly  go  and  thank  our  hostess  duly." 

Gwen  sprang  up.  "Oh,"  she  cried,  "I  know  I  ought  to 
wait  for  you  to  rise,  Pamela,  as  this  is  a  most  proper  party, 
but  I  can't !  I'm  dying  to  go.  Mr.  Urfurd,  do  let's  start.  I 
believe  we're  going  to  have  the  most  glorious  day  I've  ever 
known !" 

Mr.  Urfurd  laughed.  "Have  a  cigar,  Shenk,"  he  said, 
"and  pass  the  box  to  Sinclair,  will  you.  Well,  I  hope  you  do. 
You  must  excuse  me.  Picnics  are  not  much  in  my  line. 
Pamela  knows  the  way  even  better  than  I  do,  and  you  can  all 
look  after  yourselves.  I'll  send  the  horses  round,  and  expect 
you  back  about  ten.  I  see  you  brought  a  gun,  Leonard,  and 
there  are  pigeon  in  the  cave,  so  it's  worth  while.  If  you  men 
want  another,  you've  only  got  to  say  so.  You  know  the  gun- 
room I  think,  Sinclair,  so  please  take  what  you  like."  And 
he  left  by  the  open  doors  on  to  the  stoep  in  the  direction  of 
the  stables, 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  85 

Pamela  assumed  command.  "Mr.  Sinclair,  if  you  do  want 
a  gun,  go  and  get  one,  and  in  any  case,  will  you  look  after 
the  male  section?  I've  roused  father  up  to  a  point  he's 
scarcely  ever  reached  before,  but  no  human  power  can  carry 
him  further.  If  you  girls  '11  come  with  me,  we'll  go  and  get 
ready.  Meet  on  the  stoep  of  the  lounge  in  ten  minutes." 

When  it  came  to  starting,  Pamela  led  the  way,  followed 
by  Leonard,  his  sister  and  Shenk  behind,  Cecil  next,  and 
Hugh  in  the  rear.  It  seemed  a  reasonable  arrangement,  but 
Cecil  felt  a  little  guilty,  as  if  she  had  schemed  for  it.  At  any 
rate,  at  first,  the  track  only  permitted  of  single  file,  and  they 
were  all  close  together.  The  talking  that  went  on  ought  more 
properly  to  be  called  shouting,  and  consisted  chiefly  of  that 
frequent  and  ultimately  annoy  ing,  remark  on  such  occasions: 
"What  do  you  say?" 

But  across  the  river,  it  was  possible  to  ride  abreast,  and 
Hugh  ranged  up  on  Cecil  immediately.  For  a  while  it 
seemed  as  if  they  had  little  to  say  to  each  other.  He  was  not 
an  adept  at  making  small  talk,  and  at  first  they  merely  dis- 
cussed Three  Springs  and  the  immediate  excursion,  calling 
each  other's  attention  to  a  gay  flower  here  or  the  view  there. 
However  at  length  he  said:  "When  are  you  going  to  pay 
me  that  visit,  Miss  Eldred  ?  I'm  all  ready  for  it.  The  sheep 
are  sheared  and  the  mealies  in,  and  even  the  house  has  been 
cleaned.  When  is  it  to  be?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Cecil.  "You  mustn't  ask  me.  It's 
too  big  an  affair  altogether.  You  must  come  and  talk  to 
father  about  it  But  I  wish  you  would.  Gwen  and  I  are 
dying  to  go  to  the  Malutis.  Couldn't  you  ask  Mr.  Urfurd 
and  Pamela  as  well,  and  arrange  for  us  to  go  up  Bushman's 
Nek  and  see  this  other  cave  that  they're  so  keen  to  see  ?" 

"Yes,  I  could,  but  I  don't  know  that  I  want  Urfurd  or  his 
daughter  particularly  just  now.  Another  time  we  can  per- 
haps arrange  it  so.  I  want  you  all  to  come  out  to  Spring- 
fontein  by  yourselves  this  time.  Will  you  back  it  up,  any- 
way?" 

"Of  course,  only  you  must  ask  daddy." 


£6  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"I  will.  I'll  come  over  next  week — no,  better  still,  I'll  ride 
back  with  you  after  this  week-end,  if  I  may,  and  ask  him 
then.  And,  Miss  Eldred,  there's  something  else  I  want  to  ask 
him  as  well." 

"Really,"  said  Cecil.  "Oh  do  then.  But  look,  the  others 
are  out  of  sight.  Let's  canter  here  a  bit." 

It  was  ten  minutes  before  he  could  return  to  the  subject. 
"Can  you  guess  what  I  want  to  ask  your  father — Cecil  ?"  he 
said. 

It  was  awfully  stupid  (she  told  herself)  but  her  heart 
leapt  at  the  name.  Yet  she  was  instantly  on  her  guard. 
Neither  time  nor  place  pleased  her  ladyship,  uninstructed  as 
she  was  in  all  that  bad  black  business,  but  untold  centuries  of 
experience  rallied  to  her  aid.  "No,"  she  said,  "how  should 
I  know  ?  Look !  Do  get  me  some  of  those  delicious  forget- 
me-nots  down  there  by  that  spring !" 

He  dismounted  as  in  duty  bound.  Cecil  sat  her  horse  idly, 
watching,  and  then  suddenly  regretted  that  the  flowers  were 
forget-me-nots.  Fate  had  outwitted  nature  once  again.  He 
came  to  her  where  she  sat,  with  the  starry  blue  bunch,  but 
did  not  give  them  up  all  at  once.  "I  want  to  ask  your  father 
if  I  may  try  to  teach  you  the  meaning  of  these  flowers, 
Cecil,"  he  said.  "They  give  me  just  the  chance  to  say  what 
I  did  not  know  how  to  say.  May  I  ask  that  of  him,  dear?" 

Cecil's  little  world  stood  still.  It  was  as  if  she  suddenly 
had  vision  of  infinite  things,  wide  vistas  reaching  to  eternity 
and  a  glimpse  of  God.  Conventional  Hugh  and  unsophisti- 
cated Cecil  disappeared.  A  man  stood  by  a  woman  and 
asked  if  she  would  fulfil  with  him  the  inscrutable  purposes 
of  their  being.  Nor  was  there  any  escape.  She  glanced 
hurriedly  around  for  it,  but  they  were  again  alone  on  the 
winding  hill-side  path,  with  the  little  stream  singing  below 
them  of  the  webs  of  fate  and  the  blue  sky  serene  above. 
Driven  back  upon  herself,  Cecil  pulled  the  last  weapon  from 
her  armoury.  And  in  the  nature  of  things,  once  that  is  used, 
surrender  is  imminent. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  87 

"Oh  how  can  I  say  ?"  she  cried.  "Don't  ask  me  yet,  please, 
please!" 

"Dear,"  said  he,  "I'm  not  asking  you  what  I  hope  I  may 
ask  one  day.  But  I  would  like  to  know  if  it  is  with  your 
good-will  that  I  say  what  I  shall  say  to  your  father.  It  need 
not  mean  anything  irrevocable  to  you  if  you  say  'yes/  but  ft 
will  mean  much  to  me." 

She  looked  at  him.  God  knows  what  she  saw  in  him — 
more  than  others  had  done  it  is  to  be  supposed.  But  then 
what  does  any  woman  see  in  such  a  moment  ?  In  a  way  there 
was  nothing  in  him  that  deceived  her  at  any  rate,  but  she 
deceived  herself.  She  supposed  she  was  free  to  speak  what 
she  would;  she  supposed  she  knew  what  she  meant;  she 
supposed  that  it  was  truly  not  irrevocable.  But  how  often  is 
a  woman's  least  answer  any  of  these  things  ?  "Yes,"  she  said 
simply,  "you  may." 

He  surrendered  the  flowers  without  a  word  and  climbed 
again  into  the  saddle.  They  rode  on  for  a  few  minutes  in 
silence.  Cecil  was  staring  at  her  horse's  head  and  question- 
ing stupidly  how  he  had  come  to  have  a  little  nick  out  of  his 
left  ear.  Then  Hugh  spoke,  and  with  such  a  note  in  his 
voice  that  she  wondered  for  a  moment  if  she  knew  the  man 
who  was  speaking.  As  he  went  on,  the  feeling  grew  on  her 
that  life  had  gone  beyond  her  power. 

"Oh  Cecil,"  he  said,  "how  wonderful  it  all  is !  It  seems  to 
me  that  I  have  been  knocking  up  and  down  the  world  for  all 
these  years,  just  for  this.  Springfontein  seemed  to  me  a  dif- 
ferent place  when  I  went  back  to  it  from  you  before,  but 

now !  Oh  in  a  way,  I  regret  this  week-end !  I  want  to 

go  back  and  work  and  plan  and  build  for  you  know  what. 
I  see,  now,  why  a  man  feels  that  he  must  get  a  resting  place ; 
there  is  that  in  him  which  wishes  to  make  a  home.  I  see, 
now,  why  life  is  worth  living  and  its  battles  worth  fighting. 
I  regret  nothing  now,  neither  the  hardships  nor  the  defeats 
nor  the  set-backs.  They  make  this  the  more  worth  while. 
Only  I  wish  that  Springfontein  was  better — that  I  had  a  few 


88  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

thousand  instead  of  a  few  hundred  pounds.  I'm  not  a  rich 
man,  dear.  And  I'm  a  very  ignorant  one.  I've  really  noth- 
ing to  offer  you,  except  just  myself." 

Cecil  wanted  to  stop  him.  She  wanted  to  say  that  he  was 
running  on  too  fast,  taking  too  much  for  granted.  She  had 
promised  nothing;  she  had  only  granted  a  permission  she 
could  hardly  refuse.  But  she  could  not  put  it  into  words. 
"I  wonder  if  any  woman  asks  more,"  she  found  herself 
saying. 

"Not  if  she  is  in  love,"  said  Hugh  simply.  "That's  what 
makes  women  so  great.  It  doesn't  matter  to  them  that  we 
are  roughened  and  hardened  and  dirtied.  But  it  matters  to 
us.  We  see,  then,  what  blind  fools  we  have  been.  Cecil,  I 
can't  tell  you  all  about  myself  now,  but  I  must  one  day. 
What  will  you  say  then,  I  wonder?  But  if  you  can  come  to 
love  me,  dear,  I  know  already." 

"He  will  probably  tell  you  all  his  sins  and  you  will  weep 
and  forgive  him."  The  words  sounded  to  Cecil  utterly 
heartless  now,  but  she  suddenly  remembered  them  with  a 
little  sense  of  fear.  How  should  Pamela  know  these  things? 
Surely  this  golden  afternoon  was  unique  in  time!  Impa- 
tiently she  flicked  up  her  horse. 

Hugh  misunderstood.  "I've  said  more  than  I  ought,"  he 
said  when  he  caught  her  up.  "I'm  so  sorry.  But  it  can't  be 
unsaid.  Don't  be  angry,  Cecil." 

His  tone  was  so  humble  that  a  swift  revulsion  of  feeling 
came  over  her,  and  her  voice  grew  tender.  "I'm  not,"  she 
replied.  "It's  not  that  at  all.  But  let  us  ride  on  more  quickly 
now.  Tell  me  of  your  Rhodesian  days.  And  when  we  reach 
the  others,  ride  a  bit  with  Gwen." 

"You  darling !"  he  exclaimed  joyfully.  "I  will — if  you'll 
walk  home  with  me  in  the  evening." 

She  laughed  outright,  her  nervous  tension  unaccountably 
gone.  "I  don't  know,"  she  said,  "probably  not !" 

But  the  others  had  dismounted  across  the  stream  when 
they  rode  up.  Pamela  turned  to  greet  them.  "There  you 
are  at  last,"  she  cried.  "Tea's  ready.  Don't  you  want  it? 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  89 

We  should  have  begun  next  minute  if  you  hadn't  come  up." 

"Hot  scones  too,  Miss  Eldred,"  Shenk  called  to  Cecil, 
"and  the  scones  of  Three  Springs  are  famous  in  the  country. 
And  do  tell  your  brother  to  remove  his  gun  from  this  neigh- 
bourhood. He's  not  seen  a  pigeon  yet,  and  he'll  shoot  us  in 
despair  if  you  don't !" 

"Hugh,  come  and  sit  by  me,"  said  Gwen.  "Pam's  going  to 
lecture  on  her  cave  during  tea  and  we  can  go  to  sleep  com- 
fortably together.  I'm  sure  you  know  nothing  about  Bush- 
men or  Egyptians,  and,  if  you  told  the  truth,  care  less.  Also, 
I  like  your  cigarettes.  Here,  you  can  have  half  my  coat." 

Tea  over,  they  explored  the  cave.  It  was  more  of  a  hollow 
in  the  cliff  than  a  cave,  but  certainly  a  deep  one  at  that.  You 
scrambled  up  a  rough  cleft  in  the  hill-side,  and  at  the  head  of 
it,  set  behind  a  deep  fringe  of  bushes,  was  the  wide  semi- 
circular place  that  would  have  hidden  a  hundred  men.  Its  lip 
was  composed  of  great  boulders,  and  a  tiny  trickle  of  water 
fell  from  the  top  some  eighty  feet  above  and  plashed  cease- 
lessly on  the  rocks  beneath.  They  were  all  more  or  less  silent 
as  they  stood  there.  Shenk  climbed  up  on  a  boulder  and 
looked  down.  "Two  men  with  repeating  rifles  and  plenty  of 
ammunition  could  hold  this  place  against  anything  short  of 
artillery,"  he  said. 

Cecil  shivered.  "Pamela,"  she  said,  "it  gives  me  the  creeps, 
I  don't  know  why.  It  feels  as  if  men  had  been  murdered 
here." 

"They  have,"  said  Pamela  carelessly,  pulling  aside  a  bush. 
Behind  it  lay  an  almost  complete  skeleton,  clean  and  white, 
and  still  lying  as  it  had  first  fallen  there.  "However,  I  don't 
believe  this  is  a  Bushman's  skeleton,  by  the  way,"  she  went 
on,  "and  I  think  they  are  a  woman's  bones.  There  was  a 
curious  knife  by  it,  too,  but  I've  got  that  at  home.  If  you 
care  to  speculate,  Cecily,  you  can  picture  to  yourself  a  trag- 
edy here — some  one  of  us  poor  women  deceived  again  by 
love,  even  though  she  was  probably  black." 

"Oh  Pamela,"  cried  Cecil,  "how  awful !"  And  she  turned 
quickly  aside.  Hugh  stepped  between  her  and  it.  "Why 


90  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

don't  you  have  it  buried?"  he  demanded.  "You  shouldn't 
leave  it  here." 

Pamela  looked  coolly  at  him.  "Why  not?"  she  retorted. 
"Would  she  be  better  off  six  feet  under  ground?  After 
life's  fitful  fever,  she  sleeps  well ;  let  her  sleep." 

"If  she  sleeps,"  said  Shenk,  with  a  little  laugh. 

Pamela  turned  quickly  towards  him.  "Ah  yes,"  she  said, 
"#/.  That,  you  and  I  don't  know,  yet,  Mr.  Shenk." 

Shenk  looked  what  he  felt  but  said  nothing.  However  as 
he  and  Hugh  followed  the  rest  back,  he  said:  "That  girl 
gives  me  the  creeps,  Sinclair.  She's  uncanny."  Hugh 
skirted  a  boulder  carefully ;  he  did  not  much  care  for  Shenk. 
"It's  your  bad  conscience,  perhaps,"  he  said  with  a  laugh. 
"I  don't  creep."  Which  was  not  exactly  true,  and  hard  on 
Shenk  in  any  case,  for  he  was  a  good  enough  fellow. 

The  Anubis  figures  were  certainly  interesting.  There 
were  two,  one  apparently  following  a  long  line  of  various 
buck,  with  a  couple  of  hartebeest  especially  well  drawn,  and 
the  other,  above  them  all,  seemingly  watching  the  procession. 
Human  figures,  with  bows  and  arrows,  crouched  under  cover 
and  were  apparently  hunting  the  animals.  But  the  interpre- 
tation was  not  easy  to  read.  "You  see,"  Pamela  pointed  out, 
"it  might  mean  that  the  jackal-headed  beasts,  in  the  mind  of 
the  artist,  drove  the  animals — gods  of  nature,  perhaps.  But 
then  the  Bushmen  had  no  such  ideas,  or  none  that  we  know." 

"Perhaps  they're  not  Bushman  paintings  at  all,"  said 
Gwen. 

"Oh  I  think  they  are,"  said  Pamela.  "If  not,  they  are 
indeed  a  find.  Even  as  it  is,  I'm  inclined  to  believe  that  they 
are  uniquely  valuable  as  showing  that  even  the  Bushmen  be- 
lieved in  some  power  behind  the  world  of  nature  and  perhaps 
in  command  of  it.  Half  beasts  themselves,  they  might 
easily  have  imagined  that  power  to  be  half  beastly.  It  would 
have  been  a  tribal  memory  from  the  days  when  their  fathers 
trekked  down  through  Africa  from  Egypt  or  beyond.  You 
can  picture  them  crouching  naked  at  night  in  their  holes  on 
the  hill-side  and  guarding  the  rocks  yonder  against  foul 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  91 

things  creeping  up  the  valley  in  the  dark.  And  then  when 
the  sun  restored  their  courage,  they  drew  these  pictures  on 
the  rocks,  embodying  their  fear.  It  may  have  been  so ;  at  any 
rate  there  are  none  left  to  tell  us." 

"None?"  queried  Cecil. 

"None,  my  dear.  We  whites  shot  them  down  at  sight  as  if 
they  had  been  jackals,  or  poisoned  their  wells.  The  Kaffirs 
hunted  them  down  in  droves.  They  would  not  civilise  you 
see,  or  work,  not  even  with  the  aid  of  a  sjambok.  Their 
cousins,  the  baboons,  are  wiser  and  take  to  inaccessible  rocks. 
But  the  Bushmen  fled  till  they  could  fly  no  farther,  and 
then,  as  they  could  not  climb  like  monkeys,  they  died  instead. 
Your  old  Jacob,  Cecil,  used  to  spear  them  when  he  was  a 
boy;  he  told  me  a  white  man  gave  him  so  much  per  head. 
He  was  rather  clever  at  it,  I  should  think.  But  it  was  risky 
work ;  they  had  stings."  And  she  pointed  to  the  bows  in  the 
hands  of  the  hunters  in  the  pictures. 

"Let's  get  back,"  said  Hugh.  "It  will  be  dark  soon.  We're 
very  grateful  to  you,  but  this  part  of  the  show  has  ceased  to 
be  cheerful,  Miss  Pamela." 

"Has  it?"  said  Pamela.  "Well,  I  don't  suppose  it  was 
very  cheerful  for  the  Bushmen,  though  most  of  them  died 
fighting,  which  was  perhaps  their  best  means  of  exit.  In 
their  own  way,  they  died  for  freedom,  and  for  their  jackal- 
headed  gods." 

Pamela  led  the  way  back  and  Cecil  followed  close  behind 
her.  "Pam,"  she  said  when  the  going  was  a  bit  easier,  "do 
you  really  mean  white  men  poisoned  these  poor  creatures' 
wells?" 

"Yes,"  said  her  guide.  "Sounds  horrible,  I  admit,  but 
after  all,  if  it  was  a  good  and  not  too  painful  poison,  it  may 
not  have  been  such  a  bad  way." 

"Pam!  You  don't  mean  it!"  cried  Cecil,  ranging  up 
alongside  as  they  reached  the  river.  "It's  too  awful." 

"Well,"  retorted  the  other,  argumentatively,  "the  Bushmen 
would  raid  the  flocks.  It  wasn't  as  if  they  were  content  with 
a  sheep  now  and  again  either,  but  they'd  kill  a  score  of  ewes 


92  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

for  the  sake  of  a  few  tid-bits.  Or,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  half 
kill  the  poor  beasts.  They  wouldn't  listen  to  reason;  they 
wouldn't  be  permanently  bribed;  and  they  fought  and  hid 

like  wild-cats.  I  can  imagine  myself Look  out!"  she 

cried  suddenly. 

Cecil  started  instantaneously  at  the  quick  change  of  tone, 
glanced  right  and  left,  and  then  sprang  back  with  a  shriek  of 
horror.  On  her  left,  emerging  from  the  bushes,  was  the 
deadliest  of  South  African  snakes,  the  black  mamba.  For  a 
second  the  reptile  seemed  to  hesitate  as  to  whether  or  not  it 
would  dispute  with  them  the  right  of  way,  and  then  it  turned 
to  escape.  But  that  one  second  cost  it  its  life.  Pamela,  quick 
as  thought,  leapt  forward  sjambok  in  hand.  Once,  twice, 
three  times,  she  struck  the  writhing  thing,  and  then  ceased. 

"Object  lesson,  Cecily,"  she  said  with  a  chuckle.  "There 
was  no  time  then  to  think  of  sentiment,  and  I  expect  that's 
what  the  farmers  felt.  Come  on.  There's  nothing  to  fear. 
His  day's  work  is  done.  Let's  send  the  boys  for  him.  He's 
a  good  specimen,  but  you  can  have  the  skin  if  you  like." 

"Oh  Pam,"  cried  Cecil  admiringly  and  breathing  freely 
again,  "what  a  nerve  you  have!  If  it  had  come  for  me  I 
could  have  done  nothing.  You  didn't  hesitate  a  second." 

"Rule  for  life,  Cecily,"  Pamela  said.  "Strike  when  you 
must  and  strike  hard." 

Cecil  sighed.  "I  suppose  so,"  she  said,  "but,  Pam,  I 
wish  you  weren't  so — so "  And  she  stuck  for  a  word. 

"Yes,"  laughed  Pamela.    "Out  with  it.    Don't  mind  me !" 

Then  Cecil  remembered  Gwen's  word.  "Well,  Pam, — I 
can't  help  it — ruthless,"  she  said. 

Pamela  took  her  arm  with  a  display  of  affection  unusual 
in  her.  "But,  Cecily,"  she  said,  "we're  pals,  aren't  we?  and 
apparently  there  are  times  when  it  is  a  handy  virtue  for  one 
of  us  at  least  to  possess." 


CHAPTER  VII 

CECIL  woke  in  the  night  and  could  not  get  to  sleep  again. 
She  did  not  want  to  do  so  at  once,  however.  She  lay 
staring  at  the  window  from  which  she  had  drawn  back  the 
curtain  and  through  which  she  could  see  the  tops  of  trees  in 
a  white  sheet  of  moon.  The  window  was  open  and  all  the 
sounds  of  the  night  came  through  to  her — the  hoot  of  an  owl, 
the  noise  of  cicalas,  the  rustling  of  leaves,  and  once  the  crow 
of  a  sleepy  cock.  But  she  was  not  thinking  of  the  night. 
Rather  she  turned  over  in  her  mind  all  the  doings  of  the  day, 
and  was  glad  to  lie  there  and  think  of  the  many  things  which 
could  not  be  said. 

She  reasoned  with  herself  as  to  whether  or  not  she  was 
sorry  that  she  had  not  walked  home  with  Hugh,  or  rather 
that  she  had  refused  to  be  alone  with  him.  She  knew  ex- 
actly why.  He  had  made  it  impossible,  she  told  herself, 
when  his  hand  had  sought  hers  under  the  blanket  as  they  lay 
by  the  stream  after  dinner  and  listened  to  the  gramophone. 
Pamela  had  been  on  the  other  side  of  her,  and  she  had 
trembled  lest  they  had  been  seen.  But  the  rug  had  utterly 
hidden  them,  hidden  enough  of  them,  that  is,  to  conceal  even 
the  slight  movement  he  had  made  as  his  fingers  sought  hers. 
Once  there,  however,  she  had  let  them  have  their  way,  and 
suffered  the  caress  as  they  stroked  her  wrist.  She  had 
thrilled  with  love  for  him  then,  she  thought.  There  rang  in 
her  head,  as  if  it  had  been  the  sweetest  music,  the  lines  of  the 
lilting  chorus : 

"When  the  moon  shines, 
Over  the  cow-shed, 
I'll  be  waiting  at  the  k-k-kitchen  door." 

93 


94  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Dear  old  Hugh!  There  was  something  about  him  that 
moved  her  inexpressibly.  She  was  glad  he  was  so  much 
older  than  she,  glad  that  he  was  just  an  honest  kindly  strong 
man  who  sought  her  so  honourably.  But  when  they  had  got 
up  to  go,  she  had  suddenly  been  afraid.  If  she  walked  home 
alone  with  him,  what  might  not  happen?  An  irrevocable 
kiss  might  be  given,  for  a  kiss  seemed  to  her  as  solemn  a 
thing  as  that.  No,  no,  no,  not  yet.  Let  him  ask  her  father ; 
let  him  woo  her  a  little  more ;  let  her  hold  off  for  a  while.  It 
was  asking  too  much.  Never  again  alone  like  this.  .  .  . 

She  shifted  to  a  more  comfortable  position.  There  was 
Gwen,  now;  she  did  not  feel  in  the  least  like  Gwen.  Gwen 
was  tired  already.  It  seemed  so  absurd.  Gwen  wanted  a 
lover.  What  did  she  mean  ?  She  was  not  at  all  sure  that  she, 
Cecil,  wanted  a  lover.  She  wanted  Hugh  in  a  way,  but 
really  she  was  chiefly  content  that  he  was  there,  in  the  back- 
ground so  to  speak.  She  wondered  what  she  ought  to  say  to 
Gwen,  and  the  more  she  thought  of  it,  the  more  troubled  she 
became.  It  wasn't  right  of  Gwen.  But  what  could  one  say? 
She  would  ask  Pam — not  directly,  of  course,  but  in  the  way 
one  could.  .  .  . 

And  then  Pamela  took  possession  of  her.  She  hardly 
thought  consecutively  now,  but  allowed  images  to  drift  by 
her — the  cave,  the  trickle  of  water,  the  pictures,  those  awful 
bones.  She  shifted  over  again  at  that,  to  get  rid  of  the 
thought,  and  effectively  did. 

When  she  awoke,  the  sunlight  was  streaming  in  and  there 
was  Pam  by  her  side  with  a  tea-tray.  "Oh  you're  awake  at 
last,  are  you,"  said  her  hostess.  "I  looked  in  half  an  hour 
ago  and  you  were  snoring.  Now  however,  I  had  determined 
to  wake  you.  I  want  to  have  my  tea  with  you,  so  I've 
brought  a  whole  outfit.  There !  bread  and  butter  for  you  and 
cigarettes  for  me.  I  wonder  when  you'll  begin  to  smoke, 
Cecily." 

"Never,  I  think,"  said  Cecil.  "I  don't  want  to,  not  one 
bit." 

Pamela  carefully  selected  a  cigarette,  and  went  through 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  95 

her  ritual.  But  before  she  could  speak,  Cecil  burst  out 
laughing.  "Oh,  Pam,"  she  said,  "you're  prodigious!  At 
times  you're  terrible,  but  not  on  a  bright  morning  like  this. 
Also  it's  the  Sabbath  and  witches  have  no  power.  Hence  I 
have  no  fear  of  the  oracle  about  to  sound.  Now  speak." 

Pamela  made  no  immediate  reply.  She  pushed  the  tray 
a  bit  farther  back  on  the  little  side-table,  kicked  off  her 
slippers,  threw  off  her  dressing-gown,  and  stood  revealed 
in  silk  pyjamas  at  which  Cecil  stared  a  little.  Then  she 
pulled  back  the  sheet  and  got  into  bed,  or  rather  half  in,  for 
she  remained  leaning  on  the  pillow  and  looking  down  at 
Cecil  whose  black  hair  streamed  across  the  white  pillow  case. 
"There,"  she  said,  "that's  all  the  oracle." 

Cecil  snuggled  up  against  her.  "You're  rather  a  dear, 
Pam,"  she  said,  "and  I  love  you.  But  I  don't  see  much  of  an 
oracle  in  this." 

"Don't  you?"  replied  the  other  coolly;  "pyjamas  with 
you  in  bed !  Has  that  ever  happened  before,  for  Gwen 
doesn't  wear  them  I  know,  and  when  will  it  happen  again?" 

Cecil  crimsoned  and  hid  her  face.  "Pam !"  she  exclaimed, 
"don't!" 

Pamela  put  her  cigarette  between  her  lips  and  pushed  her 
fingers  through  the  girl's  hair  caressingly.  "Poor  little  one," 
she  said,  "it  was  rather  beastly.  But  are  you  sure  you  love 
him,  Cecily?" 

Cecil  reached  out  her  white  arm  and  began  to  play  with 
the  strings  of  her  friend's  pyjamas.  By  this  time,  Pamela's 
penetration  no  longer  surprised  her  friend,  so  she  only  said, 
"Yes,  Pam;  I  think  so." 

"You  must  not  think;  you  must  know." 

"How  can  one  know?  Last  night,  coming  home,  I  was 
terrified  of  him  in  a  way.  I  dreaded  to  be  alone." 

"He  kissed  you,  did  he?"  asked  Pamela  gently.  "In  the 
afternoon?" 

"Oh  no,"  said  Cecil.  "You're  wrong  for  once,  Pamela. 
What  fun!" 

"Did  he  not?    No,  Cecily,  I'm  not  wrong  really — though 


96  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

perhaps  I  ought  to  have  seen  that  if  so  you  would  not  have 
been  frightened  any  longer.  No,  my  dear,  I'm  incredibly, 
unbelievably  right.  What  did  he  do  ?  Let's  see,  I  expect  he 
hinted  at  things  and — oh,  yes,  he's  going  to  ask  your  father's 
leave  to  propose  to  you.  Is  that  it?" 

Cecil  was  not  far  off  tears.  "Pam!"  she  exclaimed, 
"please  don't.  You  spoil  everything.  You're  laughing  at 
him,  and  you  hurt  me  awfully." 

Pamela  plunged  her  cigarette  into  a  tea-cup  that  she  had 
already  slopped  over  in  getting  into  bed,  and  then  bent 
impulsively  and  kissed  the  black  hair  and  rather  misty  eyes 
of  the  girl  beside  her.  And  at  that  Cecil  shot  her  arms  round 
her  friend's  neck  and  held  her  so  a  moment.  "Oh  Pam,"  she 
whispered,  "I'm  so  sorry.  You're  a  darling." 

"No,  I'm  not,"  said  Pamela  disengaging  herself,  but 
sinking  a  little  lower  into  bed  at  the  same  time.  "It  was 
rather  brutal,  but  you  see,  dear,  Hugh  is  so  conventional. 
It's  all  falling  out  exactly  as  I  said.  Of  course  he  falls  in 
love  with  you ;  of  course  he  approaches  like — well,  like  that ; 
and  of  course  you  take  his  forget-me-nots  and  wait  for  his 
kisses,  against  the  day  they'll  come,  like  a  strayed  Psyche. 
It's  all  as  it  ought  to  be — perhaps.  But  be  sure  you  love  him, 
Cecily." 

"What  is  love,  Pam?"  whispered  Cecil. 

Pamela  made  no  answer.  She  had  hard  work  not  to  do 
so  though.  The  hard  and  cynical  things  she  learned  of  her 
books,  of  her  solitariness  and  of  Nature,  were  on  the  tip 
of  her  tongue.  But  she  did  not  say  them,  and  the  moment 
passed,  for  Cecil  answered  herself  without  waiting  for  her 
friend  to  reply,  and  Pamela,  knowing  nothing  of  what  lay 
behind,  marvelled. 

"Is  it  to  want  a  lover,  Pam?"  went  on  Cecil  softly.  "To 
want  him  to  seize  you  in  his  arms  and  to  kiss  until  it  hurts 
almost.  To  want  to  be  his  wife,  no,  I  mean  his  woman;  to 
want  to  feel  that  you  are  his  property.  And  not  to  be  quite 
sure  you  really  do  want  it — to  be  almost  frightened  of  it — 
but  still  to  want  it,  and  to  want — yes,  I  think  it's  that  too — to 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  97 

want  to  be  a  mother.    Is  that  love,  do  you  think,  Pamela?" 

Pamela's  straying  fingers  on  her  hair  stopped  motion- 
less. "Who  told  you,  Cecily,  little  one?"  she  demanded 
quietly.  "Oh  my  dear,  fancy  your  knowing  that !  Has  your 
heart  taught  you  that  already?" 

But  at  her  words,  Cecil  rolled  over  on  her  side  and  hid  her 
face  again.  SoGwenknew!  How?  Was  this  what  Africa 
did  for  one  ?  But  did  she,  Cecil,  know  these  things  ?  Why 
was  it  she  did  not  feel  them  ? 

A  minute  or  two  slipped  by  in  silence,  and  then  she  came 
to  a  determination  and  sat  abruptly  up.  "Pamela,"  she 
said,  "I  want  to  tell  you  a  terrible  thing  and  to  ask  you  about 
it.  Will  you  promise  me  faithfully  never,  never,  to  breathe 
a  word  to  a  soul  ?" 

Pamela  smiled  at  her  vehemence.  "Surely,  Cecily,"  she 
said. 

"Well,  then,  when  I  got  home  I  found  out  a  terrible  thing. 
It  doesn't  matter  how  I  found  out,  but  I  know' now  it  is 
certainly  true.  Nobody  has  told  me  for  certain,  but  I  feel 
it  to  be  true  somehow,  and  it  fits  in  with  things  in  this 
country.  I  can't  get  it  off  my  mind.  It's  this — oh,  it's  hard 
to  tell  you — Harold  was  sent  away  to  Rhodesia  because  he 
was  flirting  with  our  half-caste  servant  Fanny."  She 
crimsoned  as  she  spoke.  "Flirting,  Pam.  Father  must  have 
feared  things  too  awful  for  words.  But  just  think  of  it.  To 
think  that  Harold,  our  Harold,  should  love  a  woman  who's 
actually  partly  a  Griqua !  Oh  Pam,  how  could  he  ?" 

Pamela  settled  herself  more  comfortably  in  the  bed.  It 
was  an  astonishing  morning,  she  thought,  and  required 
grappling  with.  What  would  this  child  ask  next?  What 
was  there  in  this  for  such  alarm?  However,  when  she  was 
comfortable,  she  pronounced  judgment.  "I  don't  in  the 
least  suppose  he  did — or  does — love  her,"  she  said. 

"But,  Pam,  that's  not  the  point.  Or  not  exactly  the  point. 
It  seems  he — he  wanted  her.  That's  what  I  can't  get  over. 
That's  what  I  can't  understand  a  bit.  I  can  understand 
granting  Hugh  like — well,  as  I've  said;  Hugh  might  be 


98  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

wanted  like  that.  But  how  does  it  come  in  between  Harold 
and  Fanny  ?  Fanny  might  easily  have  loved  Harold,  I  sup- 
pose, but  Harold.  .  .  .  He  must  have  made  Fanny  hope  for 
— for,  well,  perhaps  for  a  child.  Do  you  think  he  could 
possibly  have  thought  of  that,  Pamela?" 

"I  should  take  it  that  was  about  all  he  did  think  of,"  she 
replied  coolly. 

"But  then  what  are  men  like,"  whispered  Cecil,  white- 
faced. 

"They're  much  as  God  made  them,"  said  Pamela,  smiling. 

"God  did  not  make  people  like  that,"  said  Cecil.  "I  can't 
believe  it." 

"Well,  as  the  devil  made  them  then,"  retorted  Pamela. 

"But,  Pam,  he  isn't  as  powerful  as  all  that.  Can  he  spoil 
the  most  wonderful  things  in  life?  And  how  does  one  know 
when  it  is  the  devil  and  when  it  is  God?" 

"Ah,"  exclaimed  Pamela  involuntarily,  "how  indeed!" 

"But  one  knows  when  he  is  about,"  said  Cecil. 

"Does  one?" 

"Yes.  You  can't  trick  me,  Pam.  Why  (and  her  voice 
sank  low)  I'm  sure  a  mother  knows  that  her  baby  is  from 
God." 

The  elder  girl  looked  at  her  wonderingly.  "Are  you 
inclined  to  mix  up  God  with  the  affair  of  Harold  and  Fanny, 
then?"  she  asked  almost  cruelly. 

"Oh,"  cried  poor  Cecil,  "that's  just  it.  I  don't  under- 
stand!" 

Pamela  abandoned  all  pretence.  "See  here,  Cecily,"  she 
said.  '"Let's  have  done  with  riddles.  After  all,  on  the  eve 
of  what  you  are  contemplating,  you  ought  to  have  done  with 
them.  Sometime  or  another  you  must  face  facts,  you  must 
get  down  to  life.  The  birth  of  a  baby  is  not  only  a  senti- 
mental affair,  the  result  of  loving  and  kissing.  It's  a  natural 
thing  of  the  body  as  well.  You  know  that,  I  suppose,  as  well 
as  I,  and  it  is  foolish  to  pretend  it  is  indecent  to  talk  about 
it.  The  very  Prayer  Book  tells  you  that  marriage  is  for  that 
end,  even  although  some  parsons  do  leave  it  out,  and  you 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  99 

must  know  that  there  are  marriages  which  are  not  made  as  a 
result  of  love.  For  there's  lust  as  well  as  love.  There's  the 
desire  for  bodily  things  which  can  come  when  there  is  no 
love  at  all.  It's  a  terrible  passion,  my  dear,  a  human  figure 
with  a  jackal's  savage  head.  It's  the  great  upthrust  of  nature 
through  all  our  trappings  and  conventions.  Love  beautifies 
it,  ennobles  it,  cloaks  it,  but  love  does  not  cause  it.  Or  at 
least  I  think  not.  There  can  be  one  without  the  other.  And 
often  human  nature  lusts  before  it  loves,  and  even  lusts 
where  it  does  not  love  at  all.  That  jackal-headed  beast 
gripped  Harold,  I  suppose,  my  dear.  Maybe,  it  grips  men 
more  than  women;  very  probably  it  does.  It's  theirs  to 
seize  and  give — give — give;  ours  to  receive  and  to  endure 
and  to  protect  the  life  that  grows  in  us.  As  for  Fanny,  she 
was  ready  to  take  what  her  nature  taught  her  to  demand 
when  it  was  offered  her.  Her  strain  of  native  blood  made 
her  think  no  more  of  it  than  that.  I  don't  know  that  I  blame 
either  very  much." 

She  had  spoken  savagely,  and  her  stream  of  words 
seemed  to  crush  Cecil  who  lay  quite  still  when  she  had  done, 
conscious,  chiefly,  of  a  bitterness  she  could  not  understand. 
But  in  a  moment  curiosity  got  the  better  of  her.  "Pam," 
she  said,  "how  do  you  know  all  that?" 

Pamela  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Books,"  she  said,  "and 
living  among  natives,  using  one's  wits  and  one's  eyes.  Be- 
sides we  are  not  all  so  placid  as  you  seem  to  be,  Cecily." 

Cecil  stared  at  her  in  bewilderment.  Then  gradually,  a 
thought  framed  itself — "Poor  Gwen!"  And  it  stung  her 
into  words. 

"Oh  Pamela,"  she  cried,  "don't  talk  of  such  things !  You 
seem  to  tear  down  all  the  veils  and  make  it  all  hideous. 
People  aren't — aren't  beasts!"  And  she  burst  into  tears. 

This  time  Pamela  did  not  comfort  her.  "Venus  came 
naked  from  the  sea,"  she  said  drily.  "And  you  must  face 
life  sooner  or  later,  Cecily ;  one  day  you  may  even  be  grateful 
to  me  that  I  explained." 

Cecil  raised  a  wet  face  from  her  pillow.    "At  any  rate," 


100 

she  declared  fiercely,  "I  shan't  think  of  such  things  any  more. 
You  are  not  to  talk  to  me  of  them  again.  I'm  not  made  like 
that,  and  nor  is  Hugh,  I'm  sure.  Let's  get  up.  I  shan't 
quarrel  with  you,  especially  as  I  began  it  (and  she  smiled 
faintly),  but  let's  forget  that  we  ever  talked  of  it  at  all!" 

Pamela  got  leisurely  out  of  bed  and  groped  with  her  feet 
for  her  slippers  as  she  slipped  on  her  light  dress  ing-gown. 
"We  won't,  dear,  if  you're  so  sure  of  yourself  and  of  him. 
I'm  glad  you  can  be.  And  now,"  she  added,  "don't  hurry. 
Breakfast  is  any  time  in  this  house.  Would  you  like  it  in 
bed?" 

"Oh  no,"  said  Cecil.  "I  hate  breakfast  in  bed.  It's  so 
sloppy.  And  besides  it's  another  glorious  day.  What  a 
country  it  is !  You  ought  all  to  be  made  to  live  in  England 
for  a  while.  You  talk  a  lot  about  nature,  but  you  don't  half 
appreciate  her,  I  think!" 

"No,"  said  Pamela  at  the  door;  "we  know  her." 

That  day  Cecil  found  Hugh  more  clean,  simple  and 
straight  than  ever.  And  he  was  all  these  things  in  great 
measure.  Little  as  she  realised  it,  the  talk  of  the  morning 
threw  her  into  his  arms.  There  was  that  in  her  manner 
which  was  appealing  and  trustful  that  day.  He  responded 
to  it,  naturally.  He  thought  he  had  seen  no  one  like  her 
in  her  innocence  and  candour.  It  is  a  frame  of  mind  not 
uncommon  among  lovers,  but  in  Cecil's  case  it  was  certainly 
true.  And  for  her  part,  when  she  went  to  bed,  she  could 
hardly  say  her  prayers  for  joy,  and  she  told  her  God  that 
she  was  sure  of  her  heart. 


PART  II 
THE     WIFE 


CHAPTER  I 

HUGH  snored. 
It  was  not  in  the  least  an  aggressive  snore  and  its 
effect  was  soothing  rather  than  annoying,  indeed  Pamela 
Urfurd  has  declared  ere  now  that  she  likes  Hugh  best  when 
he  is  snoring.  According  to  her,  his  general  placidity  is  then 
completely  and  happily  demonstrated.  But  then  Pamela  is — 
well,  Pamela,  and  at  any  rate  she  is  not  his  wife. 

Cecil  had  been,  however,  nearly  three  years  his  wife,  a 
time  long  enough  for  her  to  frown  slightly  when  he  snored. 
She  was  adorable  when  she  frowned.  A  little  later,  Chris- 
topher Ashurst  was  wont  to  declare  that  he  loved  Hugh  to 
snore  just  because  it  made  Cecil  frown,  and  he  would  then 
describe  that  frown,  being  by  way  of  a  connoisseur  in 
woman's  emotions.  But  her  frown  did  not  last  long;  there 
had  not  yet  been  time  enough  for  that. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  she  had  good  reason  to  frown. 
Husbands  are  more  or  less  entitled  to  snore  in  the  presence 
of  their  wives,  but  in  the  right  place  and  at  the  right  time. 
After  dinner,  and  when  there  are  guests,  is  not  the  right 
time.  That  can  hardly  be  denied.  When  they  were  alone, 
Cecil  permitted  it  to  pass  unchallenged,  had  indeed  by  now 
become  accustomed  to  it,  and  would  perhaps  merely  glance 
up  from  her  book,  look  at  him  as  he  had  never  seen  her  look 
and  for  which  he  would  have  but  loved  her  more  than  ever 
if  he  had,  and  then  settle  her  cushions  more  comfortably 
and  fall  to  reading  again.  For  Cecil  had  come  to  realise 
what  a  difference  in  years  there  was  between  them,  and,  still 
more,  what  a  difference  in  temperament.  After  his  con- 
scientious day  on  the  farm  and  his  terrific  wrestle  with  his 
accounts  before  dinner,  Hugh  liked  to  eat  heartily,  light  his 

103 


104 

pipe,  settle  himself  in  his  chair,  and  take  up  a  newspaper.  In 
five  minutes  he  would  nod;  in  ten  gently  allow  his  pipe  to 
slip  from  between  his  lips  and  fall  to  the  floor,  from  which 
he  would  sleepily  retrieve  it,  placing  it  on  the  table  at  his 
side ;  and  in  fifteen,  nasally  announce  to  the  world  about  him 
that  he  was  at  peace  with  life.  More  days  than  not,  on  that 
lonely  farm,  Cecil  made  up  his  sole  audience,  and  if  she 
frowned  a  little  because  he  did  not  show  at  the  moment 
superabundant  interest  in  herself,  she  smiled  also  because, 
after  all,  he  was  a  dear  old  thing  and  it  was  nice  for  him  to 
be  content. 

But  with  Pam  visiting  there  it  was  another  matter,  and  it 
wasn't  even  as  if  he  snored  when  Pam  was  alone  with  them. 
The  night  before,  when  the  Hardcastles  had  been  asked  to 
dinner  to  meet  her,  it  had  been  the  same.  The  magistrate 
and  his  wife  from  Kokstad,  if  you  please !  It  was  true  that 
they  had  made  up  a  four  for  bridge  and  that  he  had  sat  out 
(because  the  game  always  bored  him,  to  tell  the  truth,  though 
it  was  plainly  his  duty  to  be  bored  just  then),  and  that 
sitting-out  is  a  little  dull  for  anyone  and  practically  irresist- 
ible in  the  case  of  Hugh ;  and  it  was  true  that  he  had  known 
Mr.  Hardcastle  for  years,  who  considered  him  one  of  "the 
very  best"  (which  he  was)  and  allowed  for  it  even  as  Cecil 
herself  did.  But  there  was  Mrs.  Hardcastle,  whom  Cecil 
hated,  a  very  definite  lady  who  did  not  tolerate  any  relaxa- 
tion of  party  manners  in  her  presence  even  between  friends 
in  Africa.  She  was  right  too.  Hugh  should  have  consid- 
ered her.  And  he  should  still  more  have  considered  his  wife. 

To-night,  however,  only  Pam  sat  opposite  across  the  lamp- 
light. Cecil,  in  the  act  of  frowning,  caught  her  eyes  and 
smiled.  Pamela  leant  forward  and  pushed  the  box  of 
cigarettes  across  to  her.  Cecil  took  one  and  lit  it  at  the 
lamp.  And  Pamela  smiled  secretly,  remembering  many 
things.  But  of  these  she  did  not  speak.  "Come  out  on  to  the 
stoep,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone  instead.  "It's  really  admirable, 
his  sleeping,  for  we  must  make  our  plans." 

The  friends  got  up  and  went  out  into  the  warm  evening 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  105 

air.  The  stoep  at  Springfontein  is  raised  but  one  step  from 
the  level  of  the  garden,  and  the  bed  underneath,  planted 
with  sweet-smelling  tobacco  plants,  sent  up  to  them  its 
magical  scent.  Cecil  was  conscious,  however,  of  an  irritation 
which  was  not  to  be  dispersed  so  easily  as  usual.  Hugh's 
sleep  had  an  intolerable  air  to-night.  She  pulled  a  spray  of 
Japanese  honeysuckle  from  a  pillar  and  plucked  off  the 
leaves  and  petals  moodily. 

"Well,"  said  Pamela,  "what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"Oh  I  don't  know,"  replied  Cecil.  "He  will  hate  me  to  go, 
and  somehow  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  can  start  another  battle. 
Hugh's  like  a  feather-bed,  very  soft  and  comfortable,  but 
enervating.  Also  you  can  beat  it  up  as  much  as  you  like,  but 
still  it  remains  a  dead  weight." 

"My  dear,"  said  Pamela,  "you  are  being  ridiculous.  Very 
likely  he'll  be  glad  to  let  you  go.  You  want  a  change ;  any- 
one can  see  that.  If  he  can't  take  you  away  himself,  it's  all 
the  better  that  I  should.  Besides,  it's  only  for  a  few  days. 
And  a  month  ago,  he  himself  suggested  your  meeting  Gwen." 

"I  know,  but  that's  just  like  Hugh.  He  will  suggest  a 
thing  one  day,  but  the  next  all  the  difficulties,  mostly  imag- 
inary, stare  him  in  the  face,  and  he  is  completely  over- 
whelmed. He  is  quite  content  with  everything,  you  see.  I 
think  he  wouldn't  mind  if  he  never  moved  off  Springfontein 
again  in  his  life." 

"But  what  in  the  world  are  the  difficulties  here  ?" 

"Well,  there's  Ronnie.  Then  he  hasn't  any  petrol  for  the 
car,  and  how  am  I  to  get  to  the  station?  Then  I  can't  go 
alone.  Then  it  will  be  an  expense  which  we  can't  afford. 
Then  Durban  is  too  full  at  this  time  of  the  year.  Then 
father's  meeting  Gwen  and  he  did  not  know  that  before. 
Then  it  will  certainly  be  hot  there,  too  hot  for  me.  And  the 
mail  boats  are  so  irregular  that  we  may  have  to  wait  days." 

Pamela  chuckled.  "All  that's  rubbish,  and  you  know 
it  is." 

"Of  course  it's  rubbish,  but  it's  what  Hugh  will  say.  I 
shall  have  to  argue  every  point,  to-night,  to-morrow,  and 


io6  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

every  ..ay  till  I  go.  You  don't  know  Hugh,  though  you  think 
you  do." 

"Well  but,  my  dear,  it  would  be  so  topping.  We  could 
have  a  day  at  least  all  to  ourselves  before  your  people  come. 
And  I  want  you  to  meet  Chris  too.  You'll  like  him.  And 
besides,  if  you  don't  come,  I  shall  have  to  go  back  to  Three 
Springs  and  pick  up  father,  which  I  don't  want  to  do.  Nor 
will  he  want  to  be  picked  up,  for  that  matter." 

Cecil's  cigarette  glowed  as  she  pulled  on  it.  "I  know,"  she 
said.  "It  would  be  absolutely  enchanting.  Hut " 

"There  aren't  any  buts.  Tell  him  you're  going — that  the 
thing  is  settled." 

"You  tell  him,  then,"  said  Cecil. 

"All  right,  I  will."  And  Pamela  turned  sharply  on  her 
heel  and  re-entered  the  room. 

"Pam !"  cried  Cecil  hurriedly,  but  it  was  too  late. 

Pamela  entered  swiftly  and  much  more  noisily  than  was 
her  wont  to  enter  rooms.  She  went  straight  over  to  Hugh, 
who  opened  his  eyes  automatically.  "Mr.  Sinclair,"  she  said, 
"you  must  come  and  make  Cecily  behave  decently.  Listen. 
I've  had  a  letter  from  my  father  to  say  that  my  cousin, 
Christopher  Ashurst,  is  due  in  Durban  on  the  sixteenth.  It 
seems  he  is  coming  on  the  Llanstephan  Castle.  Father,  of 
course,  doesn't  want  to  meet  him — you  know  what  he  is — and 
he  wants  me  to  go.  He  thinks  Cecily  will  be  meeting  Gwen 
since  she  happens  to  be  on  the  Llanstephan  too,  and  he  sug- 
gests I  should  go  down  with  her  and  bring  Chris  up.  And 
now  Cecily  says  she  can't  go.  Can't  leave  you  and  Ronnie 
even  for  a  couple  of  days!  Do  come  and  tell  her  to  be 
sensible." 

Hugh  looked  into  his  pipe  and  found  it  empty.  He  got  up, 
searching  for  his  pouch.  It  was  on  the  floor,  and  Pamela 
picked  it  up  for  him. 

"Oh  thanks,"  he  said,  "I  must  have  dropped  it.  Of  course 
Cecil  can  go.  Where  is  she  ?" 

Cecil  came  in.  "Don't  be  absurd,  Hugh,"  she  said.  "How 
can  I  leave  Ronnie?" 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  107 

"My  darling,  Ronnie  will  be  all  right.  The  girls  can  look 
after  him  without  you  for  a  couple  of  days.  The  only  diffi- 
culty that  I  see  is  that  we  are  out  of  petrol  as  it  happens. 
Durban  will  be  very  hot,  too." 

Cecil  did  not  dare  to  look  at  Pamela.  Pamela,  however, 
chuckled  wickedly.  "That's  just  what  Cecil  said,  Mr.  Sin- 
clair, and  I  told  her  you  would  get  over  all  those  difficulties 
in  a  minute.  Probably  Mr.  Hardcastle  could  lend  you  some 
petrol,  and  even  if  not,  we  could  drive  to  Franklin  for  once. 
It's  not  so  far  as  all  that.  And  as  to  Durban's  being  hot, 
well,  that  doesn't  matter  for  a  few  days.  It  will  be  all  the 
more  pleasant  when  we  get  back." 

Hugh  finished  filling  his  pipe  and  struck  a  match.  He  did 
not  care  to  be  hurried,  and,  at  bottom,  he  did  not  like  Pamela. 
He  never  could  quite  say  why,  but  he  did  not.  She  was 
much  too  quick  for  him.  He  had  a  feeling  that  his  plans 
were  not  quite  his  own  when  she  had  done  with  them,  but  it 
was  a  muddle  that  he  couldn't  disentangle  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment.  So,  now,  he  still  temporised. 

"I  hardly  like  asking  Hardcastle,"  he  said,  "and  for  good- 
ness' sake  remember  that  it  is  not  as  if  there  were  a  station 
at  Kokstad.  It's  the  best  part  of  twenty  miles  in  to  Franklin, 
and  a  rotten  bad  road  from  here  to  Kokstad  anyway." 

"But  you're  golfing  with  him  to-morrow,"  said  Pamela, 
ignoring  the  last  part  of  his  speech,  "and  it  will  be  a  splendid 
opportunity  to  ask  him.  Besides  he  said  only  yesterday  that 
he  had  just  got  some  more  in  and  could  lend  you  a  case  if 
you  wanted  any." 

Cecil  did  not  remember  the  occasion  particularly  and  nor 
did  Hugh,  but  he,  poor  man,  concluded  it  might  have  been 
during  the  bridge.  He  was  aware  that  things  had  been  said 
to  which  he  had  generally  assented  and  so  on,  but  he  was  not 
very  clear  as  to  details.  At  any  rate  there  was  only  one 
course  open  at  the  moment. 

"How  many  days  do  you  expect  to  be  away,  Cecil?"  he 
asked  cheerfully. 

"Oh,  Hugh,  do  you  really  mean  it  ?"  she  cried.    "It  will  be 


io8  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

jolly.  Pam  and  I  thought  we  might  go  down  on  Wednesday. 
The  boat's  due  on  Thursday,  you  know.  But  it  is  usually  a 
little  late  these  days,  and  if  so  we  could  have  a  day's  shop- 
ping. I  must  get  some  things,  and  it  will  be  such  a  chance." 

"To-day  is  Monday,"  observed  Hugh. 

"Yes,"  put  in  Pamela  quickly,  "that  gives  us  heaps  of  time. 
We  had  better  write  to  the  Royal  to-morrow,  Cecily.  And  I 
must  wire  to  father." 

Cecil  was  all  animation.  "I  wonder  what's  on  at  the  the- 
atre?" she  cried.  "Where's  the  paper?  In  this  house,  one 
never  can  find  anything.  Hugh,  didn't  you  read  the  paper 
to-night?" 

"No,  my  darling,  I  didn't,"  said  Hugh  drily.  "I  couldn't 
find  it.  Blandina  said  she  thought  you  and  Miss  Urfurd  had 
left  it  out  in  the  hammock,  this  afternoon." 

"Oh  so  we  did,"  said  Cecil.  "Pam,  you  are  careless.  That 
new  novel  is  out  there  too.  I'll  go  and  get  them."  And  she 
darted  to  the  door. 

"The  grass  will  be  fearfully  wet,"  called  Hugh  after  her, 
starting  up.  "Don't  go  in  those  thin  shoes ;  it's  madness.  I'll 
fetch  them." 

"Hugh,"  called  Cecil  from  the  stoep,  "you  are  a  fussy  old 
thing.  What  does  it  matter  if  it  is  wet?"  And  she  disap- 
peared. 

Hugh  pathetically  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Pamela  looked 
as  grave  as  a  judge.  The  two  of  them  walked  out  into  the 
night  and  stood  waiting,  Hugh  sucking  his  pipe.  "She's  a 
perfect  child,"  he  said. 

"I  know,"  said  Pamela,  "but  a  very  dear  one.  After 
all,  getting  her  shoes  wet  doesn't  matter  so  very  much  as 
we  must  all  turn  in  in  a  few  minutes.  It's  nearly  eleven." 

"Is  it?"  said  Hugh.  "We  dined  late,  didn't  we?  But 
as  Cecil  forgot  to  order  dinner,  it  is  more  of  a  wonder  that 
we  dined  at  all.  Got  it,  darling?"  he  added  to  Cecil  who 
came  running  up  with  the  paper. 

"It's  sopping  wet,"  cried  Cecil,  laughing,  "but  never 
mind,  we  can  see  all  we  want."  And  she  ran  to  the  win- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LINING  109 

dow  to  read  by  the  light  that  filtered  dimly  out  from  the 
lamp. 

"You'll  hurt  your  eyes,"  said  Hugh. 

Pamela  restrained  another  chuckle  with  difficulty. 
"Cecily,"  she  declared,  "I'm  off  to  bed.  And  I  shall  lock 
my  door.  I  don't  want  to  get  up  at  half -past  six  to- 
morrow. I  want  tea  about  eight  o'clock.  Good-night." 

"There's  nothing  on,  Pam,"  cried  Cecil,  hurriedly  glanc- 
ing down  the  columns  of  advertisements.  "What  a  beastly 
shame!  At  least,  only  the  movies.  But  we  can  go  to 
them.  Anything's  a  blessed  change  after  this  place.  Do 
you  remember  that  adorable  man  who  gave  us  chocolates 
last  year?  You'd  gone  to  the  club,  Hugh.  I  told  you  not 
to  go,  but  you  would,  so  it  wasn't  my  fault.  Are  you  really 
going,  Pamela?  Good-night,  dear.  No,  wait  a  moment, 
I'll  see  you  to  bed.  But  why  you  want  to  go  so  early  I 
can't  think.  I  hate  going  to  bed." 

Left  to  himself,  Hugh  carefully  turned  out  the  lamp 
and  shut  the  door.  Then  he  stole  quietly  into  Cecil's  room 
and  lit  a  candle.  Their  two  beds  stood  at  one  end  of  the 
room,  and  next  his,  a  cot.  Hugh  tip-toed  over  to  it.  Little 
Ronnie  lay  there  dead  asleep  and  hardly  seeming  to  breathe, 
and  the  man,  carefully  shading  the  light,  stood  looking 
down  on  him.  Cecil  entering  lightly,  found  him  standing 
so.  She  crossed  to  his  side,  and  he  put  one  arm  round 
her  waist.  "Our  baby,  darling,"  he  whispered  gently. 

"He  ought  to  be  more  tucked  up,"  said  Cecil  definitely, 
and  she  slipped  from  his  arm  to  arrange  the  coverings 
better.  As  she  bent  over  the  child,  Hugh  lightly  touched 
her  hair.  Cecil  glanced  up  at  him  once,  and  then  resumed 
her  tucking  up.  But  he  still  waited.  At  last  she  stood  up, 
and  kissed  him  lightly.  "It's  a  shame  to  leave  you,  Hugh," 
she  said,  "but  it  will  be  only  for  a  day  or  two  and  I  do  so 
want  to  go." 

"I  know,  my  darling,"  he  said,  "and  of  course  you  shall. 
We  can  get  on  quite  all  right.  But  I  expect  you're  tired; 
can  I  help  you  into  bed?" 


i  io  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

She  kissed  him  again.  "Dear  old  Hughie,"  she  said. 
"No,  of  course  you  can't.  Besides,  I'm  not  a  bit  tired 
really.  Run  away  and  undress,  and  don't  be  long." 

He  was  not  long,  and  when  he  returned  she  was  only 
brushing  her  hair  and  but  half  undressed.  He  pottered 
about  slowly  and  she  knew  exactly  why.  Well,  he  was  a 
dear,  she  said  to  herself,  and  she  would  be  very  nice  to 
him  to-night.  She  took  off  her  kimono  and  began  to  re- 
move the  rest  of  her  clothes.  She  knew  quite  well  that  he 
was  covertly  watching  her.  She  slipped  quickly  into  her 
nightdress  and  into  bed. 

Hugh  came  over  to  her  side  and  knelt  down,  passing  one 
arm  round  her  and  with  the  other  stroking  her  hair.  She 
lay  quite  still,  looking  at  him.  "My  darling,"  he  whispered 
softly,  and  again,  "my  darling  little  girl." 

Cecil  suppressed  a  little  sigh.  She  wanted  to  lie  still 
alone  and  plan  out  the  golden  days  at  Durban.  If  she 
were  tired  at  all,  it  was  of  his  caresses.  But  she  would  be 
good  to  him ;  he  had  earned  it ;  and  after  all  he  was  rather 
a  dear,  he  would  take  no  liberties  unless  she  invited  him. 
"Want  to  come  in  a  minute  ?"  she  asked  him, 

"May  I?"  he  said. 

"Of  course,  if  you  like,"  she  answered,  and  moved  to 
one  side  a  little. 

"Do  you  love  me,  darling?"  he  whispered,  his  face  in 
her  hair. 

Cecil  kissed  him,  and  lay  still. 

Hugh  was  up  and  out  while  Cecil  still  slept  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  when  he  got  back  at  nine  for  breakfast,  she  ap- 
peared from  Pamela's  bedroom  with  her  hair  down  and  in 
her  dressing-gown.  "Breakfast  ready?"  he  asked. 

She  danced  round  him  in  the  wildest  of  spirits.  "I 
haven't  the  faintest  idea,"  she  said.  "Pam's  still  in  bed. 
Come  and  kiss  her  good-morning,  Hugh."  And  she  flung 
her  arms  round  his  neck  and  kissed  him,  and  then  seized 
his  hand  and  dragged  him  towards  Pamela's  room.  "Really, 
my  darling "  he  protested. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  in 

Cecil  pushed  the  door  open.  "Para,"  she  cried,  "here's 
Hugh  wanting  his  breakfast.  He's  come  to  kiss  you  good- 
morning.  He  doesn't  think  it  proper  to  come  to  your  room 
at  all  really,  but  I  had  to  show  him  that  I  was  at  least  more 
ready  than  you  are." 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Sinclair,"  said  Pamela  coolly.  She 
was  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  on  her  knees  was  a  writing  block 
and  a  sheaf  of  telegraph  forms.  "I'm  composing  tele- 
grams. Do  come  and  help  me  while  Cecil  hurries  up  break- 
fast. Don't  worry  about  me;  I  only  take  five  minutes  to 
dress." 

"Good  idea,"  said  Cecil.  "Go  in,  Hugh,  and  help  her." 
And  she  pushed  him  in  and  hurried  off,  humming  to 
herself. 

Hugh  laughed.  "I  think  you  can  make  up  telegrams 
better  than  I  can,"  he  said.  "So  this  jaunt  is  really  com- 
ing off,  is  it?" 

"Well,  it  was  settled  last  night,  wasn't  it?  You  over- 
rode all  Cecil's  objections,  you  know,  and  you  can't  go 
back  on  her  now.  How's  Ronnie  this  morning?" 

"He's  had  his  breakfast  and  is  out  feeding  the  fowls," 
said  Hugh.  "I'll  leave  you  and  just  go  and  have  a  look 
at  him.  Don't  be  too  long,  will  you?  I  shall  have  to  spend 
the  morning  seeing  to  the  car." 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  Pamela  got  leisurely  out  of  bed 
and  glanced  out  of  the  window.  Then  she  sauntered  over 
to  the  mirror  and  looked  at  herself  amusedly  in  it.  "If  you 
had  married  Hugh,"  she  said  to  herself,  "you  would  have 
died  under  the  strain." 

At  breakfast  Cecil  poured  out  the  tea  with  her  usual 
recklessness.  "Hugh,"  she  said,  "this  morning  you  must 
inspect  the  tree  plantations.  Pam  and  I  both  want  to  ride 
and  you  can  take  us.  You  said  you  had  to  do  it." 

"My  darling,"  he  remonstrated,  "I  must  see  to  the  car. 
There's  a  lot  to  be  looked  at.  It  will  take  me  the  whole 
morning  to  overhaul  it.  If  you  want  it  to-morrow,  it  must 
be  done  to-day." 


ii2  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"Rubbish,  Hugh,"  cried  Cecil,  collapsing  on  her  chair. 
"Really  you  are  too  tiresome.  There's  nothing  the  matter 
with  the  car.  Let  the  boys  clean  it,  and  it  will  do.  We 
must  ride  this  morning." 

Hugh  cracked  his  egg.  And  said  nothing.  Yet  he  could 
not  have  spoken  more  plainly. 

"Really,"  said  Cecil,  "you  are  dreadful,  Hugh.  You're 
like  a  wet-blanket  all  the  time.  It  doesn't  matter  what  is 
suggested,  you  always  either  oppose  it  or  else  make  a  huge 
difficulty  out  of  it.  If  it's  going  to  be  all  this  trouble,  I'd 
better  not  go,  I  suppose." 

Hugh  laid  down  his  egg-spoon  as  she  began  and  waited 
in  silence  for  her  completely  to  finish.  Then,  magisterially, 
he  said :  "My  dear  Cecil,  I'm  not  opposing  your  scheme,  but 
you  must  have  some  reason.  You  can't  run  off  to  Durban 
at  a  moment's  notice  without  making  some  arrangements. 
You  know  perfectly  well  that  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be 
done.  Have  you  spoken  to  the  girls  about  Ronnie?  Have 
you  been  to  see  the  cook?  It's  not  my  business,  but  she 
told  me  this  morning  we  were  almost  out  of  flour.  And 
what  about  your  packing?  Really,  it  is  madness  to  ride 
this  morning.  However,  that's  your  lookout.  So  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  I  shall  see  that  all  is  ready  that  I  can  do." 

"I'll  interview  the  cook,"  said  Pamela  hastily,  hoping  to 
forestall  an  outburst  from  Cecil.  "I'm  good  with  cooks. 
The  whole  tribe  of  them  love  me  for  some  reason.  And 
I'll  make  some  scones  for  tea,  if  you  like,  Cecily." 

"It's  too  good  of  you,  Miss  Urfurd,"  said  Hugh. 

Cecil  played  with  a  knife  discontentedly,  spinning  it 
round  in  circles  until  she  spun  it  a  little  too  hard  and  it  fell 
on  the  floor.  Hugh  got  up  from  his  seat  and  retrieved  it 
solemnly,  and  sat  down  again.  Pamela  could  have  screamed 
with  laughter. 

The  door  opened  and  an  unseen  hand  admitted  Ronnie, 
who  toddled  boldly  in  and  marched  up  to  his  mother.  "Egg," 
he  demanded  loudly;  "no  bread,  no  butter,  egg."  He 
clutched  at  her  skirt  with  a  begrimed  hand  and  beamed  at 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  113 

his  father,  whose  face  was  just  within  his  line  of  vision 
across  the  table. 

"Oh  Ronnie,"  exclaimed  Cecil,  "where  have  you  been? 
No,  don't  touch  mummie's  dress.  Dirty  handy !"  And  then, 
to  the  world  at  large,  "He's  torn  his  breeches  again !  Hugh, 
really  he  is  awful!  He  ought  to  go  about  like  a  Kaffir.  It 
seems  to  me  that  I  spend  half  my  life  making  Ronnie's 
knickers.  Blandina  is  too  careless.  She  doesn't  mind  what 
he  does  or  where  he  goes." 

"Naughty  mummie,"  said  Ronnie. 

Cecil  uttered  an  exclamation,  caught  him  up  and  left  the 
room. 

Hugh  offered  Pamela  the  marmalade  and  helped  himself. 
"It's  probably  the  wire  of  the  fowl-run,"  he  said  philo- 
sophically. "I'm  glad  he  didn't  tear  his  face." 

Pamela  at  last  was  able  to  laugh.  "You  do  sound  callous," 
she  said.  "I  must  say  that  for  once  I  pity  Cecily.  You  men 
don't  have  to  bother  about  children's  clothes,  and  you  don't 
know  what  it  is." 

"Do  you  ?"  asked  Hugh,  smiling. 

Pamela  reached  for  the  tea-pot.  "May  I  pour  myself 
out  another  cup  of  tea?"  she  said.  "Won't  you  have  some 
more?  Well,  perhaps  you  touched  me  there,  but  for  all 
that  I  can  sympathise  with  Cecily.  I  hate  needle-work.  I 
think  I  should  clothe  him  in  leather  if  I  were  she.  Or 
nothing,  as  she  says." 

"Well,"  said  Hugh,  "I'll  go  and  see  to  the  car,  if  you'll 
excuse  me.  I  daresay  we  might  ride  about  eleven  if  you 
two  are  ready.  Anyway,  I'll  order  the  horses  for  then.  It 
won't  take  us  more  than  an  hour  and  a  half  to  ride  round  the 
plantations." 

He  went  off,  and  Pamela  sat  on  sipping  her  tea.  Presently 
she  smiled  secretly  to  herself,  and  then  got  up  and  put 
Cecil's  egg  under  the  cosy.  A  little  later,  the  wife  and 
harassed  mother  came  in. 

She  sat  down  smiling.  "Hugh's  going  to  ride,  after  all," 
she  said.  "He  came  and  told  me  so.  He  really  is  a  dear. 


Ii4  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

But  he's  so  horridly  annoying.  Why  in  the  world  can't 
he  fall  in  with  things  at  once  instead  of  making  such  a  fuss 
about  them  ?  He  irritates  me  beyond  words  sometimes.  He 
must  have  known  he'd  have  plenty  of  time  to  do  his  beastly 
old  car.  But  he's  such  a  dear  old  thing  I  never  can  be 
angry  for  long." 

"Where's  Ronnie?"  asked  Pamela. 

"Blandina's  changing  his  clothes.  Will  you  really  see  the 
cook,  Pam?  Ask  her  for  a  list  of  all  she  wants  and  I'll 
send  a  cart  to  town  right  away.  You  will  be  a  dear.  As  soon 
as  I've  done  breakfast  I  must  see  to  Ronnie  again.  But 
when  you  come  back  from  the  cook,  we'll  just  pack." 

Pamela  went  off  to  the  kitchen,  looking  in  on  Ronnie 
as  she  went.  He  was  standing  in  his  smock  and  holding  a 
wooden  elephant  in  his  chubby  hands.  He  loved  Pamela, 
and  although  she  said  she  did  not  care  for  children,  she  had 
a  way  of  her  own  with  them.  "Auntie  Pam,"  he  called  as 
soon  as  he  saw  her,  and  made  for  the  door,  one  foot  in  his 
knickers  and  those  unfortunate  articles  of  apparel  dragging 
after  him  along  the  floor. 

The  native  girl  sat  back  on  her  heels  and  grinned.  She, 
too,  liked  Pamela. 

"L-phant!"  declared  Ronnie,  holding  out  the  wonder. 

"So  it  is,  dear,"  said  Pamela,  "and  you  must  take  him 
for  a  walk  this  morning.  Will  you?  Mummie's  ever  so 
busy,  and  he  wants  a  walk.  See,  he's  trying  to  eat  now," 
and  she  ducked  the  wooden  beast's  head  enthusiastically. 

"L-phant,  1-phant,  Auntie  Pam!"  cried  Ronnie  trium- 
phantly. 

Pamela  spoke  rapidly  to  the  girl  in  Sesuto,  and  then 
departed.  In  the  kitchen  she  restored  cheerfulness  in  five 
minutes  and  retired  with  a  list  of  what  was  needed.  Hugh 
was  in  the  hall,  putting  on  overalls  and  looking  for  his  hat. 
She  brought  it  him. 

"This  is  the  kitchen  list,"  she  said.  "Could  you  send 
a  boy  to  town  for  these  things?  Cecil  is  seeing  to  Ronnie 
and  packing,  and  I  promised  her  I'd  make  it  out." 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  115 

"Right,"  he   said,   "and   eleven  sharp   for  the  horses." 

Pamela  found  Cecil  in  her  bedroom,  sitting  on  the  floor, 
the  ground  strewn  with  clothes  and  a  trunk  open  in  front  of 
her.  She  steered  through  this  sea  of  disorder  gingerly  and 
sat  down  on  a  bed,  crossing  her  legs  and  stroking  the  silk 
stocking  of  the  limb  she  nursed.  "The  list  is  on  its  way  to 
town,"  she  said,  "Ronnie's  feeding  his  elephant  on  the  lawn, 
Hugh's  cheerful  as  a  bird,  and  the  horses  are  to  be  here  at 
eleven.  The  lark  is  in  the  sky  and  every  flower  in  the  garden 
is  lovely." 

Cecil  sighed.  "Pam,"  she  demanded,  "do  you  think  I'm 
a  beast  to  Hugh?" 

Pamela  considered  her,  and  the  litter  in  which  she  sat. 
"My  dear,"  she  said,  "I  should  give  up  attempting  to  pack 
a  silk  petticoat  inside  a  shoe.  .  .  .  No,  I  don't.  But  nor 
is  Hugh  a  beast  to  you." 

"I  never  said  he  was,"  said  Cecil. 

"You  didn't,  but  you  meant  it." 

"I  did  not;  he's  a  dear  and  I  love  him.  But  he  does 
aggravate  me.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  if  I  am  a  beast  to 
be  aggravated." 

"You  are  stupid  to  show  it,"  said  Pamela.  "And  he's 
rather  stupid  to  stand  it,"  she  added. 

"I  can't  help  it,  Pam,"  said  Cecil  sorrowfully.  "I  don't 
know  why  it  is,  but  sometimes  I  can  hardly  bear  him.  I 
suppose  I  ought  not  to  say  so  to  you,  but  I  can  talk  to  you, 
and  you're  very  wise  in  some  ways." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Pamela.    "Hugh  isn't." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  the  girl  on  the  floor. 

"What  you  want,  my  dear  Cecily,"  said  Pamela  getting 
up,  "is  a  thorough  whipping,  metaphorically  at  any  rate, 
about  once  a  month.  Hugh  ought  to  know  it  and  to  do  it. 
He's  playing  with  fire  not  to  do  it." 

"He'd  be  playing  with  fire  if  he  did  do  it!"  cried  Cecil 
indignantly. 

"He  would  not  be,"  said  Pamela  calmly,  "not  under  the 
circumstances.  If  you  ask  me,  I  think  it  is  his  one  chance — 


u6  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

but  I  fear  he  won't  take  it.  Possibly  you'll  be  whipped  all 
the  same,  Cecily.  But  possibly  not.  Fate  is  not  always 
kind." 

"Pamela,"  said  Cecil  dogmatically,  "sometimes  you  talk 
utter  rubbish.  This  is  a  time.  But  if  you  care  to  try  and 
explain  yourself,  I  will  listen.  If  not,  give  up  talking  and 
come  and  help  me  choose  some  things  for  Durban." 

Pamela  moved  over  and  sat  on  the  floor.  "I'll  help  pack," 
she  said,  and  took  up  a  crumpled  camisole  which  she  pro- 
ceeded to  straighten  out. 

Cecil  snatched  it  from  her.  "You'll  not  pack  a  thing," 
she  said,  "unless  you  tell  me  what  you  meant  just  now." 

Her  friend  leant  back  on  her  hands,  as  she  rather  liked 
doing,  and  glanced  a  little  sideways  at  the  speaker.  "It's  a 
queer  world,  Cecily,"  she  said.  "You  and  Hugh  and  your 
people  and  lots  more,  blunder  through  it,  and  never  seem  to 
see  a  thing.  Why  is  it  that  I  seem  to  see  ?  I  don't  know ; 
and  I  wish  to  God  I  didn't.  It's  nearly  four  years  now  since 
you  and  I  talked  together  in  my  room  at  Three  Springs.  I 
told  you  then  you  would  marry  Hugh,  and  you  have.  Have 
you  found  what  you  wanted,  Cecily?" 

Cecil  considered. 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  she  said.  "I  loved  him  awfully  much, 
and  I  still  do.  Of  course  it  gets  a  bit  different  after  a  while ; 
everyday  life  is  not  all  a  honeymoon;  it  can't  be.  But 
Hugh's  an  awfully  good  husband  to  me.  He's  a  bit  dull  at 
times,  but  in  the  end,  I  mostly  do  as  I  like.  We've  never  had 
a  real  row." 

"No,"  said  Pamela,  "exactly.  And  was  that  what  you 
wanted?  It  seems  to  me  that  you  expressed  yourself  dif- 
ferently then." 

Cecil  looked  puzzled.  "Did  I  ?"  she  said.  "I  really  hardly 
remember.  I  know  you  said  beastly  things  about  having 
babies  which,  by  the  way,  really  aren't  true.  But  what  else 
did  I  say?" 

Pamela  drew  in  her  breath  sharply  and  stared  at  her. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  117 

"What  a  fool  I  was,"  she  said.  "So  some  one  else  had  told 
you.  Who  was  it,  I  wonder?  .  .  .  Cecily,  let's  pack.  It's 
getting  late.  My  dear,  you  must  take  this :  you  look  perfectly 
charming  in  it."  (She  held  up  a  gown  of  rose-coloured  silk.) 
"And  remember  to  wear  nothing  with  it  but  that  moon-stone 
pendant  I  gave  you.  You'll  conquer  the  devil  then." 

"It's  the  world  I  want  to  conquer,"  said  Cecil,  eagerly, 
reaching  for  the  gown. 

"And  may,"  said  Pamela  to  herself,  "but  what  when  the 
flesh  comes  in  ?" 

They  rode  at  eleven,  and  Pamela  thought,  as  she  often  did, 
that  Hugh  appeared  to  better  advantage  in  the  saddle  than 
anywhere  else.  He  sat  his  horse  superbly,  and  was  so  thor- 
oughly master  of  himself  and  it.  He  was  in  the  best  of 
tempers,  too,  on  horseback  and  the  very  perfection  of  cour- 
tesy. It  was  a  dull  day,  with  scraps  of  fleeting  sunshine ;  and 
they  rode  out  over  the  veld  to  the  hill  behind  the  farm  which 
he  was  planting  with  firs,  oaks,  and  gums.  Mount  Currie 
stood  up  over  against  them  magnificently,  and  as  they 
mounted  the  slope,  Kokstad,  set  in  its  trees  and  with  its  river 
winding  by,  showed  up  clearly  at  their  feet.  Far  away 
towards  the  sea  were  the  Ingeli  Mountains,  and  to  the  north- 
west the  blue  barrier  of  the  Drakensberg.  Hugh  explained 
that  he  was  planting  the  hill  in  sections  year  by  year,  and 
hoped  it  would  be  fully  clothed  before  he  died.  "It's  a  little 
thing,"  he  said  with  an  unusual  touch  of  sentiment,  "but 
somehow  it  seems  to  me  worth  doing  if  one  does  nothing 
else  much  in  life.  I  want  to  see  this  bare  hill  a  real  forest 
before  I  go.  It  will  be  the  making  of  Springfontein.  Ron- 
nie will  have  a  grand  inheritance." 

"Hugh,  you  give  me  the  creeps,"  said  Cecil.  "I  can't  bear 
to  look  so  far  ahead." 

"Don't  then,  my  darling,"  he  said  lightly.  "Here  we  are. 
These  are  this  year's  planting,  Miss  Pamela.  I  ring  each 
plant  in,  you  see,  to  keep  the  cattle  off.  They're  looking 
well,  aren't  they?  Those  are  Madagascar  pines  from 


ii8  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Elandskop.  They  look  as  if  they  will  grow  here,  though  I 
rather  feared  the  cold.  Let's  hope  we  don't  get  too  sharp  a 
frost  this  year." 

Cecil  was  staring  out  at  the  distant  mountains.  "Hugh," 
she  said,  "when  shall  we  go  properly  into  the  Malutis  ?  You 
remember  how  we  went  first?  I  got  engaged  there,  Pamela 
; — oh !  of  course  you  were  with  us.  What  ages  ago  it  seems ! 
But  we  did  not  go  far  enough  to  please  me.  Qacha's  Nek 
always  fascinates  me  too.  We've  motored  there  once  or 
twice  since,  Pam;  but  I'd  love  to  trek  on  and  on  into  the 
mountains.  Wouldn't  you?" 

"We  must  try  to  get  up  an  excursion,"  said  Hugh.  "Pos- 
sibly your  cousin  would  like  it,  Miss  Pamela." 

"I'm  sure  he  would.  He's  travelled  a  great  deal,  but  not  in 
South  Africa.  Ask  us  both,  Mr.  Sinclair." 

Hugh  went  off  to  his  golf  in  the  afternoon,  and  returned 
in  Mr.  Hardcastle's  car  which  also  brought  a  spare  case  of 
petrol.  The  two  men  had  a  drink  or  two  on  the  stoep,  and 
then,  his  visitor  leaving,  Hugh  went  in  to  change  for  dinner. 
His  dressing-room  did  not  open  out  of  the  bedroom,  but  he 
looked  in  to  see  if  Ronnie  was  asleep.  Cecil  was  standing 
there,  brushing  her  hair,  her  dress  hanging  over  a  chair  wait- 
ing to  be  put  on.  He  put  his  hands  on  her  bare  shoulders 
and  kissed  her. 

Cecil  put  down  her  brush  and  leant  her  face  against  his 
coat.  "You  smell  of  whisky  and  tobacco,"  she  said,  "a  nice 
smell.  Hugh,  tell  me,  am  I  a  beast  to  you  ?" 

The  man  put  his  arm  round  her  and  kissed  her  hair.  "My 
darling,"  he  said,  "of  course  not." 

"But  I  am,  Hugh.  I  don't  mean  to  be,  perhaps.  But  you 
ought  to  be  angry  with  me  sometimes — really  angry  I  mean." 

"I  don't  think  I  could  be,  Cecily,"  he  said.  "I  love  you 
too  much." 

She  sighed  a  little.  "I  know  you  do,  Hugh,"  she  said. 
"Tell  me  how  you  love  me." 

Hugh's  arm  tightened  about  her.  It  was  a  rare  mood 
for  Cecil.  He  slipped  his  hand  caressingly  down  her  white 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  119 

back  and  shoulder,  very  tenderly.  "More  than  I  can  say, 
my  darling,"  he  whispered.  "You  know  how  I  love  you." 

"What  would  you  do  if  I  ran  away  from  you,  Hugh?" 
she  demanded. 

He  laughed.    "Run  after  you,  I  expect,"  he  said. 

"What  with,  Hugh?    A  revolver  or  a  whip?" 

"Cecily,  darling,"  he  protested,  "don't  say  such  things! 
Don't  think  them!" 

"But  I  want  to  know,  Hugh,"  she  persisted. 

He  hesitated.  "Darling,  it's  absurd  to  pretend  such  a 
case.  I  think  I  should  be  broken-hearted — I  know  I  should 
— but  I  don't  think  I  should  want  to  hurt  you  even  then. 
I  couldn't,  I  think,  for  Ronnie's  sake." 

She  clung  to  him  silently.  Then  she  sighed  again.  "I 
know  it's  silly  to  ask,  but  have  you  ever  loved  anyone  as 
you  love  me,  Hugh?" 

"Never,  darling,"  he  said  emphatically. 

She  stroked  his  coat.  "Hugh,"  she  whispered,  not  look- 
ing at  him,  "have  you  ever  loved — for  a  little — or  wanted 
perhaps — other  women?  You  know  what  I  mean." 

Hugh  led  her  to  a  chair  and  sat  down,  taking  her  on  his 
knee.  "My  darling,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  mean  by  asking 
such  things  now?  Whatever  has  suggested  them?  It's  a 
subject  upon  which  you  should  know  nothing.  Of  course, 
dear,  before  I  married  you,  I  lived  a  rough  sort  of  life,  I 
told  you  so.  Most  men  do.  There's  even  one  thing  I  would 
like  to  tell  you,  now  you've  asked  such  questions,  a  little 
thing,  but  a  thing  I'm  very  sorry  for  now.  I  would  like 
to  tell  you  before  you  go  to  Durban.  You  will  hardly  be- 
lieve it,  and  I  don't  think  you  will  quite  understand." 

Cecil  looked  up  quickly  and  kissed  him.  "Oh  I  can  guess, 
dear,"  she  said.  "You  needn't  tell  me,  I  forgive  you." 

He  looked  puzzled.  "When  did  you  guess,  Cecily?"  he 
said.  "What  is  it?" 

She  blushed.  "I  don't  like  to  say,"  she  whispered.  "Was 
it  something  like — well,  like  that  affair  of  Harold's?" 

"My  darling  girl !"  he  exclaimed,  genuinely  horror-struck. 


iio  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"What  do  you  mean?  Good  God,  I'm  not  that  sort,  Cecil. 
Oh  no,  but  it  was  just  before  you  came — Gwen — I  thought 

once .  Oh  of  course,  she  was  only  a  child,  but  she  was 

old  for  her  years.  But  when  I  saw  you,  I  loved  you,  dearest, 
and  I've  never  dreamed  of  any  one  since." 

"Gwen !"  whispered  Cecil,  white  of  face.    "Oh  Hugh !" 

"My  darling,  darling  girl,  please  try  to  understand.  What 
has  come  to  you,  Cecily?  It  never  was  anything.  I  never 
said  a  word.  I  kissed  her  once  or  twice,  that  was  all.  It 
was  foolish  and  stupid,  of  course,  but  living  alone  and  so 
on,  you  don't  know  how  a  man  can  feel  about  a  girl.  And 
then  I'd  hardly  seen  you  a  day  when  I  knew  I  wanted  you 
and  no  one  else." 

Cecil  sat  up,  staring  before  her.  "Gwen,"  she  said  again, 
"Gwen !  But  oh  yes,"  she  went  on  slowly,  "I  understand,  I 
suppose.  So  men  are  made  that  way  after  all.  .  .  .  And 
you  kissed  Gwen,  Hugh?  Fancy  my  not  guessing!  If  I 
hadn't  come,  would  you  have  married  her?" 

Hugh  reached  out  for  her  hand  and  kissed  it  again  and 
again.  "Oh,  darling,"  he  cried,  "what  can  I  say?  You  don't 
understand!  But  anyway,  I  never  should  have  loved  her 
as  I  love  you.  Cecily!  Say  you  forgive  me!  Say  you're 
not  angry!" 

"No,"  said  Cecil,  "you  don't  understand.  Of  course  I'm 
not  angry,  and  after  all,  there  is  nothing  to  forgive.  You 
didn't  do  wrong,  not  with  Gwen,  anyway.  It's  not  that  I'm 
thinking  so  much  about." 

"Well,  and  the  others.  Really  that's  all  past.  Men  are 
easily  led  away  sometimes;  I  may  have  imagined  myself  in 
love.  I  can't  lie  to  you,  Cecily,  but  it  isn't  a  thing  to  think 
or  talk  about.  Can't  we  bury  it,  darling?  It's  all  finished 
and  done  with,  and  now  it's  just  you  and  I — and  Ronnie. 
And  perhaps,  one  day,  there  may  be  another,  Cecily  darling, 
do  you  think  so  ?" 

"I  was  so  young.  I  never  understood,"  said  Cecil,  as  if 
to  herself. 

Hugh  moved  a  trifle  impatiently,  and  Cecil  got  up.    Smil- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  121 

ing,  she  bent  over  him  and  kissed  him,  and  at  that  his  face 
lit  up.  Cecil  put  her  hands  one  on  either  side  of  his  head 
and  looked  at  him,  a  smile  lingering  round  her  mouth.  "I 
have  said  some  stupid  things,"  she  said.  "You  dear  old 
thing." 

He  caught  her  by  both  arms.  "And  that  other,  Cecily," 
he  whispered  eagerly. 

She  laughed.  "Go  and  dress,"  she  said.  "You'll  be  late 
for  dinner.  Let  me  get  back  from  Durban  and  111  see  if 
you're  still  good." 

He  went,  closing  the  door  softly  after  him,  and  when 
he  had  gone,  Cecil  stood  still  where  she  was  and  the  smile 
faded  from  her  face.  "Gwen,"  she  repeated  softly,  "Gwen. 
Poor  Gwen!" 

Hugh  did  not  snore  that  evening  because  he  had  no  chance. 
He  was  compelled  to  look  out  trains  and  make  plans  and 
finally  to  take  a  hand  at  three-handed  auction.  Then  he 
must  needs  carry  the  gramophone  into  the  garden  (for  fear 
of  waking  Ronnie)  and  set  on  the  records,  while  Pamela 
sat  smothered  in  a  rug,  and  Cecil,  sitting  on  a  kaross  at  her 
feet,  leant  against  her  knees. 

"Put  on  'Beautiful  Katie,' "  said  Pamela  at  last,  sleepily, 
"and  then  I  shall  go  to  bed." 

"Oh  no,  not  that,"  said  Cecil.  "I'm  dead  tired  of  it.  Let's 
have  a  fox-trot.  The  Maxina  will  do." 

Pamela  sat  up  and  rubbed  her  eyes.  "You  told  me  you 
hated  fox-trots  a  day  or  so  ago,  Cecily,"  she  said.  "And  I 
thought  you  loved  'Beautiful  Katie.' " 

"Oh  well,  that  was  a  day  or  so  ago,"  said  Cecil,  "as  you 
say." 

Off  East  London,  the  Llanstephan  lay  at  anchor  on  a  mo- 
tionless sea.  There  was  a  dance  on  board  and  the  ship  was 
gay  with  lights.  In  the  hold  aft,  men  worked  at  cargo,  and 
the  cranes  creaked  and  groaned  as  they  swung  cases  and 
bales  into  the  lighter  alongside;  but  forrard,  in  front  of 
the  wind-screen,  it  was  quite  quiet.  The  music  of  the  band 


122  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

came  faintly  to  a  couple  standing  there,  their  eyes  on  the 
twinkling  lights  of  the  little  town. 

"I  wonder  if  you'll  like  Africa,"  said  the  girl. 

"Africa!"  laughed  the  man.  "I  like  your  cheek!  All 
you  South  Africans  talk  as  if  there  were  no  other  Africa 
than  the  Union.  But  if  its  people  are  like  those  I've  met 
on  board,  I  know  I  shall." 

"Will  you,"  murmured  his  companion,  after  the  time- 
honoured  manner  of  travellers,  "that's  very  sweet  of  you." 

Christopher  Ashurst  slipped  his  arm  round  her  waist,  and 
she  did  not  move  away.  He  had  been  manoeuvring  for  that 
for  some  minutes.  "Shall  I  be  able  to  see  more  of  you?" 
he  asked  softly. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "I  shall  go  straight  on  to 
Maritzberg.  It  depends  on  yourself." 

"I  shall  visit  Maritzberg  the  moment  I  can  shake  off  my 
cousin,"  he  declared,  "and  I  shall  come  and  call.  Hark, 
that's  the  last  dance.  Let's  have  it,  shall  we?" 

She  turned  silently  to  take  his  arm,  and  the  movement 
brought  them  face  to  face.  A  stray  ray  of  light  fell  on  her 
red-gold  hair.  They  stood  so  a  minute,  and  then  he  bent 
and  kissed  her.  "You  shouldn't,"  she  murmured,  unresist- 
ing, "some  one  might  see." 

"There's  no  one  about,"  he  said. 

He  was  wrong.  Gwen  happened  to  see  and  to  hear;  a 
wind-screen  is  a  poor  shelter  in  reality.  She  was  nineteen, 
and  not  so  inexperienced  as  Cecil  had  been.  She  only  smiled. 


CHAPTER  II 

GWEN  had  come,  and  they  were  all  staying  at  the  Royal. 
That  evening,  dressing  for  dinner,  Cecil  had  just 
clasped  the  moon-stones  which  Pam  had  given  her  round 
her  neck  when  her  sister  came  in,  Gwen  had  become  a  tall 
girl,  but  in  a  way  her  years  in  England  seemed  to  have 
made  little  impression  on  her.  She  had  gone  too  late  for 
that,  with  an  impress  already  stamped  upon  her  character, 
and  had  merely  come  back  to  resume  the  old  life  with  the 
assurance  of  nineteen  years.  "Ready,  Cecil?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  replied  Cecil.  "There,  Gwen,  what  do  you  think 
of  the  moon-stones  and  this  frock?" 

Her  sister  surveyed  her  critically.  "Marriage  seems  to 
have  suited  you,  Ces,"  she  said.  "Your  figure  looks  to  be 
as  good  as  when  I  admired  it  on  the  sands — remember? — 
and  you  look  not  a  day  older.  Also  you're  as  excited 
at  the  prospect  of  meeting  a  few  men  down  below  as  if  you 
were  still  a  schoolgirl.  No,  more,  for  when  you  were  a 
schoolgirl  you  pretended  to  care  for  none  of  these  things." 

Cecil  laughed  and  kissed  her,  taking  her  arm  and  leaning 
against  her  so  that  they  both  appeared  in  the  glass.  "Wait 
till  you're  married,"  she  said.  "A  couple  of  days  off  like 
this  seems  bliss.  Ronnie  is  an  angel  of  course,  but  children 
are  a  worry,  Gwen.  It  would  be  awful  to  have  to  face  the 
prospect  of  a  baby  a  year  for  the  greater  part  of  one's  life, 
like  a  washer-woman  or  a  Kaffir.  How  they  manage  it,  I 
can't  think." 

"How  you  manage  it  not,  I  can't  think,"  said  Gwen,  coolly. 

"Gwen,"  said  Cecil  magisterially,  "you  don't  seem  to  have 
changed  much,  but  I  know  a  great  deal  more  than  I  used  to 
know  and  I  know  quite  well  that  girls  of  your  age  shouldn't 

"3 


i24  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

ask  such  questions  or  say  such  things.  Come  on;  4et's  get 
down." 

"How's  Hugh?"  asked  Gwen  carelessly,  as  they  left  the 
room.  "There  has  been  so  much  to  say  that  I  don't  believe 
I've  asked  properly.  At  least,  on  the  quay,  you  didn't  give 
me  any  details." 

"How  could  I,  my  dear?  You  were  firing  fifty  questions 
at  once  at  me.  Besides  I  said  'all  right.'  So  he  is."  Cecil 
spoke  a  trifle  shortly. 

"Dear  me,  Ces,"  said  Gwen,  passing  under  the  palms 
of  the  Ulundi  Court  and  dodging  a  branch  that  threatened 
her  hair,  "you're  not  only  married  and  a  mother,  but  a 
blasee  woman  of  the  world  already.  When  I  left  for  Eng- 
land, you  used  to  go  into  raptures  over  a  question  of  that 
sort.  Hugh  was  always  either  'anxious'  or  'tired'  or  'per- 
haps not  quite  as  well  as  usual'  according  to  you,  but  now 
he's  'all  right'  only.  By  the  way,  why  didn't  he  come  with 
you  to  meet  me?  If  I  had  married  a  wife  like  you  and  I 
were  a  man,  I  wouldn't  allow  you  to  flutter  off  alone  to 
Durban!  Trust  me!" 

They  had  passed  through  the  lounge  by  now  and  were 
out  on  the  stoep,  that  stoep  from  which  one  gets  the  best 
impression  of  the  town  of  Durban.  It  is  high  above  the 
road,  the  Post  Office  opposite,  the  Town  Hall  on  the  right, 
and  one  can  look  out  across  the  central  square  with  its  pretty 
garden  of  palms  and  trees,  the  lights,  cars,  rickshaws,  and 
passers-by  beneath,  giving  one  a  sense  of  life  and  move- 
ment. True,  all  this  means  little  to  an  Englishman  fresh 
from  Europe,  but  it  means  a  great  deal  to  a  man  from  some 
lonely  veld  farm.  It  meant  a  great  deal  to  Cecil.  She  loved 
the  country,  yes,  and  would  have  lived  nowhere  else,  but 
the  blood  of  youth  ran  in  her  veins  and  she  was  hardly  to 
be  blamed  if  she  realised  how  exceedingly  pleasant  she  was 
to  the  eyes  of  men.  So  she  loved  the  stir  of  things  here,  and 
as  the  sisters  stepped  out  into  the  bright  lights  and  threaded 
their  way  through  the  lane  of  long  cane  chairs,  Cecil  laughed 
more  heartily  at  her  sister's  words  than  they  demanded. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  125 

She  had  an  infectious  laugh,  and  most  men  glanced  at  her 
as  she  passed.  Two,  from  the  corner  where  they  had  been 
sitting  with  Pamela,  watched  them  as  they  came,  and  rose 
to  greet  them.  One  was  Jimmy  Eldred  who  had  come  to 
meet  his  daughter.  The  other  was  Chris. 

Now  it  is  a  hard  thing  to  describe  the  meeting  of  Cecil 
Sinclair  and  Christopher  Ashurst.  Outwardly,  it  was  noth- 
ing. Pamela  murmured:  'My  cousin  Christopher,  Cecily,' 
and:  'This  is  Mrs.  Sinclair,  Chris,  who  came  up  with  me,' 
and  the  two  shook  hands  conventionally,  seating  themselves 
easily  in  a  couple  of  chairs  facing  the  street  on  Pamela's 
right  while  Jimmy  Eldred  engaged  his  daughter  in  talk. 
But  months  later  they  told  each  other  that  there  was  some- 
thing more  than  this  hidden  there  beneath  the  outward  form 
of  their  greeting — told  each  other  so  while  a  wet  wind  whirled 
mists  round  them  on  a  crag  of  the  Basuto  mountains.  As 
it  was,  now,  Cecil  shook  his  hand,  sat  down,  and  glanced  out 
at  once  into  the  street.  She  noticed  little  things  in  detail 
as  if  they  were  of  immense  importance:  that  it  had 
rained  a  little  and  that  the  streets  shone ;  the  horns  on  a  be- 
decked rickshaw  boy's  head ;  that  it  was  exactly  749  by  the 
clock ;  that  a  man  coming  up  the  steps  to  the  hotel  was  wear- 
ing an  opera  hat.  And  all  the  time,  she  was  wanting  to 
stare  into  this  man's  eyes  and  greet  him  familiarly.  "We 
have  met  at  last,  have  we?"  she  would  have  said.  "Oh 
I'm  so  glad.  I  was  afraid  we  might  miss.  Let's  go  straight 
away  from  these  people  at  once  and  talk,  shall  we?  There's 
so  much  to  say." 

And  Chris?  Well,  Chris  was  what  is  known  as  a  man 
of  the  world,  but  a  man  who  had  retained  the  eagerness 
of  a  child  with  something  of  the  child's  ability  to  dive  be- 
neath the  surface  of  things.  And  he  was  saying  to  himself 
something  like  this :  "By  Jove,  what  a  topping  girl !  What 
is  it  now,  my  dear,  that  strikes  me  so  about  you  ?  Not  your 
dress  (though  it  is  very  pretty  if  I  had  time  to  stop  and  con- 
sider it) ;  not  your  moon-stones  (though  on  your  throat  they 
enchant  me) ;  not  your  figure  particularly,  nor  your  face, 


126  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

wonderful  as  they  both  are ;  and  certainly  not  your  conversa- 
tion, for  you  hardly  speak.  What  then?  You,  you  witch, 
just  you !  You  are  you  and  I  am  I,  and — well,  thank  God 
we've  met!" 

Neither,  of  course,  said  any  such  thing,  for  whatever  gods 
or  fates  order  the  world  have  left  this  class  of  understand- 
ing singularly  incomplete.  Knowing  so  much  a~t  times  with 
so  strange  an  intuition,  why  should  we  not  know  more,  or 
at  least  have  a  sense  with  which  to  express  it  to  one  an- 
other? No  one's  life  is  wholly  without  such  a  meeting,  and 
yet  as  a  rule  we  are  convention-tied,  and  pass  and  do  not 
speak.  Thus  Chris  had  no  idea  that  Cecil  saw  anything  in 
him,  and  Cecil  pretended  to  herself  that  Chris  saw  nothing 
in  her.  Yet  at  table  each  was  as  conscious  of  the  other  as 
if  they  two  had  been  there  alone,  and  afterwards  they  sat 
together  while  the  band  played,  and  talked  together,  drawn 
aside,  as  it  were,  now  and  again,  by  the  others,  but  returning 
naturally  to  each  other. 

Cecil  was  hard  at  work  all  the  time  on  a  kind  of  analysis. 
She  was  really  fighting  a  battle  already  lost.  She  kept  ask- 
ing herself  'what  is  it  about  him?'  and  hardly  listening  in  a 
way  to  the  run  of  his  talk  at  all.  He  seemed  to  her  com- 
pletely self-possessed,  cool,  almost  insolent.  He  was  always, 
of  course,  perfectly  polite,  but  she  felt  that  he  would  always 
have  that  way  with  him  in  company  with  a  woman,  and 
that  beneath  the  glove  was  an  iron  hand.  Nor  was  it  merely 
that  she  knew  from  Pamela  and  from  his  conversation  that 
he  was  a  man  who  had  travelled  much  and  seen  his  world; 
she  knew  from  his  manner  that  he  had  probed  most  mys- 
teries and  proved  them  to  be  lies.  In  both  these  things  he 
was  a  direct  contrast  to  her  husband.  Hugh  had  adored 
her  as  if  she  were  a  goddess,  and  he  treated  all  women  as  if 
they  were  royal ;  this  man  spoke  to  her  as  if  she  were  merely 
a  woman  and  he  a  man  who  had  seen  plenty  of  women. 
She  felt  small  beside  him,  but  she  had  an  incredible  desire 
to  show  him  that  she  was  not  small  at  all,  to  arrest  him  in 
his  easy-going  carelessness,  and  to  see  him  at  her  feet  Now 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  127 

and  again  he  exchanged  sentences  with  Pamela,  and  she 
could  hardly  bear  his  doing  so.  She  knew  in  a  flash  that 
he  and  Pamela  understood  each  other.  Their  words  crossed 
like  rapiers.  Pamela  had  that  same  veiled  insolence  of  man- 
ner that  he  had.  Pamela  was  easy  and  cool  as  he  was  easy 
and  cool.  But  Cecil  knew  herself  to  be  almost  feverish  and 
certainly  exalted.  She  was  a  woman — hot,  full-blooded; 
not  a  calm  devil  like  Pamela.  And  he  was  the  man  she 
had  been  wandering  down  the  years  to  meet. 

Maybe  she  would  not  have  put  her  thoughts  into  those 
words,  but  then  Cecil  was  never  good  at  words.  But  she 
did  say  to  herself,  again  and  again,  staring  at  the  street,  at 
the  band,  at  him  even,  at  Pamela,  "I  shall  fall  in  love  with 
this  man.  It  is  done,  written,  settled.  I  shall  fall  in  love 
with  this  man.  .  .  ."  And  the  thing  was  so  great  that, 
though  she  was  not  without  religion,  she  never  stopped  to 
ask  herself  if  it  were  right,  and  so  amazingly  and  indubitably 
new  that,  though  she  had  known  Hugh  three  years,  she  had 
within  her  no  sense  at  all  of  wonder. 

On  the  other  hand,  Chris  exerted  himself,  which  he  did 
not  always  trouble  to  do.  Gwen,  for  instance,  who  had  seen 
him  every  day  for  three  weeks,  was  surprised  at  him.  Up 
to  the  present,  quite  frankly,  she  had  disliked  him,  and 
chiefly,  though  she  would  not  have  allowed  it,  because  he 
hardly  gave  her  a  look,  or,  if  he  spoke  to  her,  spoke  because 
he  wanted  to  do  so  and  not  because  she  wished  him  to  speak. 
And  indeed  she  had  wished  him  to  speak  to  her — most  of 
the  women  on  board  had  so  wished.  Besides,  he  had  chiefly 
spoken  to  that  red-headed  fool  of  a  clergyman's  daughter 
from  Maritzberg  whom  he  had  kissed  so  coolly.  One  can 
sympathise  with  Gwen.  He  might  have  kissed  her  instead, 
if  he  had  wanted  to  do  so;  but  he  had  not  wanted.  To  a 
woman  that  is  the  unpardonable  sin. 

On  the  stoep  that  evening,  Cecil  had  the  first  liqueur  of 
her  life,  in  itself  a  little  thing,  but  to  her  afterwards  a  par- 
able. The  Indian  waiter  had  brought  the  coffee,  and  it  was 
Chris  of  course  who  said:  "What  about  liqueurs?  Pamela, 


128  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

what'll  you  have?  Oh,  at  least,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs. 
Sinclair,  what  will  you  have  ?  It's  your  first  call.  Cognac  ? 
Chartreuse  ?" 

"Oh  no  thanks,"  said  Cecil.    "I  don't  care  for  one." 

"Really  ?    But  you  ought,  you  know ;  this  is  an  occasion." 

She  glanced  at  him.  His  eyes  were  laughing  and  chal- 
lenging hers.  There  was  something  infectious  about  them, 
though  she  did  not  know  what.  She  felt  suddenly  very  gay. 
"Well,  perhaps,"  she  said,  "but  ask  Pamela." 

He  smiled  and  turned  to  his  cousin.  "Decide  for  us,  then, 
Pamela,"  he  said. 

"Van  der  Hum,"  said  Pamela.  "You  should  try  it,  Chris. 
It's  South  African,  and  don't  you  always  try  new  things  in 
a  new  country?" 

"Rather,"  he  said.  "Let  it  be — what  do  you  call  it? — Van 
der  Hum.  One-two-three-four,  Miss  Eldred? — and  now 
five,  Mrs.  Sinclair,  do!" 

Cecil  nodded.    "Five  Van  der  Hums,"  said  Chris. 

He  leaned  back  a  little  towards  her.  "Have  you  ever 
eaten  snails  ?"  he  asked  mysteriously. 

She  shook  her  head,  laughingly. 

"You  shouldn't  laugh.  It's  a  solemn  subject.  Snails  are 
so  good.  I'm  hoping  these  Van  der  Hums,  which  sound 
even  more  perplexing,  will  come  up  to  them." 

"I  hope  they  will,"  she  retorted,  "for  the  honour  of  South 
Africa  which  appears  to  be  engaged.  But  why  is  the  sub- 
ject so  solemn?" 

"Eats  and  drinks  are  always  solemn  subjects  to  true  Eng- 
lishmen, Mrs.  Sinclair,"  he  said.  "Haven't  you  noticed? 
But  I  confess  I'm  a  renegade.  I  always  eat  and  drink  what 
I  can't  get  at  home,  and  the  risk  adds  a  zest  to  life." 

She  took  in  his  clean-shaven  clear-cut  face,  his  rather  un- 
tidy hair,  and  his  air  of  boyishness.  "So  in  Rome  you  do 
as  Rome  does,  do  you?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.  If  you  want  to  find  out  other  people's  points  of 
view  and  philosophy,  you  must.  That  is  the  joy  of  travel, 
I  think.  Do  you  like  it?" 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  129 

"The  chance  does  not  come  my  way,"  said  Cecil,  and  could 
not  help  the  note  of  bitterness  in  her  voice.  "Tell  me." 

He  regarded  her  seriously.  "I'm  an  incorrigible  rover," 
he  replied.  "I  should  never  sit  still  more  than  a  year  or 
two  in  one  place  if  I  could  help  it.  People  say  the  world  is 
small,  and  so  it  is,  but  it  is  still  big  enough  for  most  life- 
times. I  should  like  to  feel  that  I  had  seen  most  things  and 
been  to  most  places  before  the  end." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  rather  boring  afterwards?"  asked  Cecil, 
smiling. 

"If  there  were  an  afterwards.  But  I  hope  there  won't  be. 
I  want  to  wander  till  I  drop  and  then  to  be  buried  where  I 
fall,  'a  hunter  home  from  the  hill.'  " 

His  voice  had  hardened  a  little.  Cecil  noticed  it.  For  the 
life  of  her  she  could  not  help  carrying  the  conversation  a 
step  further.  But  she  put  it  humorously.  "Then  wandering 
means  more  to  you  than  a  wife,  Mr.  Ashurst?"  she  said. 

In  a  moment  she  wished  she  had  not  said  that.  There  was 
a  perceptible  silence  and  his  eyes  would  not  leave  her  face. 
Absurd  as  it  was,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  broached  with  this 
stranger  a  subject  which  might  become  personal  to  them 
both  at  his  next  words.  But  she  had  no  need  to  fear.  His 
face  relaxed.  He  picked  up  his  little  liqueur  glass  and  looked 
at  her  quizzically  across  it.  "Well,  you  see,  Mrs.  Sinclair, 
your  sex  is  charming,  but  I,  alas,  I  have  never  been  able  suf- 
ficiently to  charm!" 

The  statement  seemed  so  obviously  untrue  that  Cecil 
laughed  outright.  Chris  shook  his  head  solemnly.  "Don't 
laugh,  Mrs.  Sinclair,"  he  said.  "I  assure  you  it's  no  laugh- 
ing matter.  But  still  perhaps  the  fault  is  also  in  myself. 
I'm  an  inconsequent  beggar.  I  can't  plan  for  years  ahead, 
or  lay  up  for  old  age,  or  devise  heritages  for  my  children, 
like  most  sane  people.  I  wasn't  made  that  way." 

"But  isn't  the  alternative  loneliness?" 

"Oh  I  don't  know.  Earth  bred  us  and  earth's  our  home, 
and  all  its  peoples  are  our  peoples.  But  I  don't  see  why  one 
should  want  to  found  a  family — what  end  there  is  in  per- 


i3o  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

petrating  oneself,  so  to  speak.  To  leave  a  world-legacy,  a 
book,  a  poem,  a  picture,  yes ;  that's  fine ;  but  merely  a  child, 
no.  Fancy  watching  all  one's  mistakes  and  all  one's  omis- 
sions coming  out  in  its  character!" 

"The  child  might  write  the  book,  or  a  better  one,"  objected 
Cecil. 

"Or  be  cut  off  in  a  war,  or  die  in  a  lunatic  asylum,  or  fall 
a  victim  to  alcohol!" 

Cecil  laughed.  "I'm  a  mother,"  she  said.  "You  forget 
that." 

Chris  leant  a  little  towards  her.  "Are  you,"  he  said.  "I 
didn't  know.  Are  you  glad  ?  It  must  be  very  strange  to  be 
a  mother.  It  satisfies  perhaps.  Does  it?" 

He  spoke  naturally,  and  seemed  to  see  nothing  unusual  in 
the  question,  but  Cecil  suddenly  saw  her  world  in  a  new 
light.  She  had  never  thought  of  it  before  in  that  way.  She 
glanced  swiftly  at  her  questioner  to  see  if  he  were  mocking 
her,  but  plainly  he  was  not.  So  she  evaded  the  direct  an- 
swer. "You  must  see  my  son,"  she  said. 

He  nodded,  but  moved  restlessly.  "Does  it  sound  rude? 
I'm  not  sure  that  I  want  to.  Do  you  know,  when  you  came 
in,  you  gave  me  an  impression — a  purely  subjective  one.  As 
a  rule,  one  can  tell  in  a  moment  if  a  woman  is  married,  but 
I  should  not  have  known  in  your  case.  I'll  flatter  you ;  you're 
so  youthful,  Mrs.  Sinclair.  Do  have  another  cigarette,  will 
you?" 

Cecil  was  glad  of  the  interruption.  She  changed  the  sub- 
ject. "Are  you  staying  in  South  Africa  long,  Mr.  Ashurst?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "I  write,  you  know,  and  one 
place  is  as  good  as  another  to  me  in  a  way.  All  places  and 
people  are  grist  to  the  mill.  But  I  think  I  shall  stay  for 
some  months.  I  like  what  little  I've  seen  so  far  of  your 
country.  It  is  jolly  here,  for  example,  and  unlike  other 
places.  Durban  is  very  much  of  a  town,  a  go-ahead  town  too 
I  should  say,  and  yet  the  Kaffirs  in  the  street  suggest  that 
the  edge  of  civilisation  is  not  far  beyond  the  city  boundaries. 
Pamela  says  Three  Springs  is  really  on  the  confines,  or  be- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  131 

yond  them.  You  know  it,  I  expect  Do  you  live  near  ?  Do 
tell  me  about  it." 

Cecil  did  not  want  to  talk.  She  wanted  just  to  sit  still 
and  listen.  "You'll  see  soon,"  she  said. 

"But  are  you  near?"  he  persisted. 

"No,"  she  said,  "not  near,  but  within  a  day's  journey  in 
a  car.  We  are  near  Basutoland,  you  know,  and  you  ought 
to  go  there.  Perhaps  we  shall  see  you  at  Springf  ontein  some 
day."  And  she  moved  a  little,  in  the  almost  imperceptible 
way  women  have  when  they  wish  politely  to  indicate  that  it 
is  time  to  include  the  others  in  the  conversation. 

Chris  glanced  at  them.  They  had  pulled  their  chairs  round 
a  little  to  see  something  of  the  square  also,  and  so  had  to 
a  degree  isolated  themselves.  He  therefore  refused  the 
hint.  Indeed  he  very  bluntly  refused  it. 

"I  ought  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "to  go  and  talk  to  my  charm- 
ing cousin  for  a  bit,  but  I  don't  want  to  and  I  shan't.  Not 
unless  you  order  me  off,  that  is.  Do  you  know  you  are  a 
delightful  person  to  talk  to?  Some  folk  obviously  talk  be- 
cause it's  a  social  duty  after  dinner,  but  all  the  time  you  can 
feel  that  they  don't  care  a  scrap  whether  one  talks  of  mice  or 
of  men,  cabbages  or  customs.  You  have  to  go  carefully  not 
to  say  a  wrong  thing — something  that  will  shock  or  scare 
them,  and  it  is  the  most  mournful  business  I  know.  The 
hardest  apostolic  maxim  is  the  command  to  suffer  fools 
gladly." 

"I'm  inclined  to  think  you  rarely  fulfil  it,"  she  said, 
laughing. 

"Oh  yes,  I  do,"  he  replied.  "It's  all  part  of  the  business. 
If  one  were  perpetually  unsociable  one  might  never  meet  the 
people  to  whom  one  can  and  wants  to  talk.  Why,  you  for- 
get what  I  told  you.  Try  everything,  adventure  everywhere, 
avoid  nothing,  otherwise  you  miss  the  reality  of  life — that's 
my  motto." 

"That  might  be  dangerous  doctrine,"  said  Cecil. 

He  nodded  seriously.  "Well  yes,  perhaps,"  he  said,  "but 
danger  is  the  spice  of  life.  Besides  one  can  be  a  Bohemian, 


132  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

for  example,  without  actually  wading  into  the  neck  like  Fran- 
c.ois  Villon,  or  interested  in  life  without  cultivating  the  vices 
of  Oscar  Wilde.  Though  I  don't  mean  one  should  play  with 
things.  It's  no  good  playing  with  realities ;  if  you  do  you  see 
nothing  truly  of  them.  People  are  tricked  by  the  shadows  of 
reality  so  often.  Religion,  love,  hate,  liberty — we  play  with 
them  !  Still  more,  they  play  with  us.  Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

Cecil  hardly  knew  what  he  meant,  yet  his  words  moved  her 
very  deeply.  This  was  not  th|  talk  of  her  own  or  her  father's 
house.  Almost  as  if  fascinated  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his, 
and,  as  it  seemed  to  her,  allowed  him  to  look  deep  down  into 
them.  "Perhaps  they  do,"  she  said,  and  there  was  a  shade 
of  wistfulness  in  her  voice.  Christopher  was  far  too  acute 
an  observer  not  to  notice  it,  and  they  came  nearer  in  that 
moment  to  a  passing  of  the  great  divide  that  conventional 
meeting  sets  up  than  at  any  other  time  that  night.  But 
something  in  her  face  held  the  man  back.  He  looked  away, 
and  a  long  silence  fell  on  them.  And  in  the  very  silence 
Cecil  knew  herself  to  be  content. 

Pamela  turned  in  her  chair.  "Well,  you  two,"  she  said, 
"have  you  talked  yourselves  out  ?  Come  over  here  and  let's 
map  out  a  programme  for  to-morrow." 

Cecil  pulled  her  chair  an  inch  or  two  forward.  "I  must 
get  back,"  she  said. 

"Why  ?"  queried  Pamela.  "Cecily  darling,  do  listen  to  me 
for  once.  Here's  the  ship  got  in  on  Thursday  to  time  when 
you  know  we  quite  expected  she  wouldn't  be  in  till  Friday. 
Wherefore  Hugh  doesn't  even  expect  you  till  Saturday  eve- 
ning. Consequently  you  can  take  all  day  to-morrow  with  an 
easy  conscience.  Next,  Mr.  Eldred  has  his  car  here,  and 
he  says  he  can  easily  take  the  lot  of  us  out  on  Saturday. 
That  will  save  you  a  beastly  railway  journey  to  begin  with, 
and  do  you  good  to  go  on  with.  But  you  can't  get  from 
Elandskop  to  Springfontein  the  same  day,  so  I  propose  you 
come  on  with  Chris  and  me  to  Three  Springs  for  Saturday 
night.  Father  will  meet  us  at  Elandskop.  And  behold,  on 
Sunday,  we  motor  you  back  to  Springfontein.  At  the  most 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  133 

you're  a  day  late,  but  it's  really  not  a  day.  Isn't  that  a 
magnificent  plan?" 

"Oh  do,  Ces,"  cried  Gwen.  "I  want  a  day  in  this  jolly  old 
place  again.  I  want  a  really  amusing  trippery  day,  a  bathe 
in  the  enclosure  in  the  morning — if  it's  there,  that  is.  Is  it, 
dad  ?  Yes  ?  Well,  that's  good.  You  must  know,  Mr.  Ash- 
urst,  that  the  bathing  enclosure  here  is  broken  by  the  sea 
every  other  month,  when  sharks  and  things  of  that  sort  get 
in,  and  bathing  is  forbidden  by  the  city  fathers  until  it's 
mended  again.  But  we're  in  luck,  it  seems.  And  I  want  to 
sail  round  the  bay  and  see  it  again,  and  eat  sundaes  at  the 
Model  Dairy,  and  drive  back  in  a  rickshaw,  and  go  to  the 
Coliseum  in  the  evening.  It's  such  fun  to  be  back.  Don't 
you  remember  what  fun  you  thought  it,  Ces  ?  Do  stay !" 

"I'll  wire  Hugh,"  said  Mr.  Eldred  with  a  smile.  "That 
will  square  it  all  right,  Cecil." 

Chris  said  nothing. 

"Will  you,  dad  ?"  cried  Cecil  eagerly.  "Oh,  then,  I  think 
I  can.  I'd  love  it.  But  when  I  got  home,  Gwen,  I  wanted 
the  country  and  not  the  town." 

"I  want  it  too,"  said  Gwen,  "but  we're  here  now,  and  I 
belong  to  Durban  more  than  you  did.  London  is  nothing 
in  comparison  with  Durban !" 

Cecil  sighed.  "Rubbish,  Gwen,"  she  said.  "I'd  give  any- 
thing to  see  London  again." 

"Make  Hugh  take  you  then,"  said 'Gwen. 

"My  dear  child,  you  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about," 
said  Cecil.  "Probably  we  shall  go  some  day,  but  not  till 
Ronnie's  bigger.  In  any  case  Hugh  is  as  hard  to  move  as — 
as — well,  as  his  own  farm." 

"You  don't  allow  for  that  farm  enough,  Ces,"  said  her 
father.  "I  understand  Hugh  entirely.  When  you've  built 
most  of  it  and  planted  all  of  it,  you  don't  want  to  leave  it  to 
Kaffirs  even  for  six  months.  When  I  was  last  in  England, 
I  wanted  to  get  back  after  the  first  fortnight.  Don't  you 
agree  with  me,  Ashurst?" 

"I've  never  had  a  farm,"  said  Chris,  "and  I'm  afraid  I 


134  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

don't  want  one.  I  confess  I'm  on  the  other  side.  Once  a 
year  at  least  I  want  to  stand  at  Piccadilly  Circus  and  eat  a 
dinner  in  the  Trocadero.  It's  a  weakness,  I  allow.  Besides 
I  think  I  feel  much  the  same  about  Paris ;  one  in  every  two 
years  at  any  rate  I  want  to  drink  a  cafe  noir  and  petit  verre 
in  view  of  the  Madeleine.  But  I  don't  think  much  of  a  year 
in  which  you  can't  sleep  out  some  months  under  the  stars. 
As  for  Durban,  I  know  what  Miss  Eldred  means  and  I 
sympathise.  I  should  like  to  be  introduced  to  all  those 
charms  she  mentions.  Doubtless  a  sundae  tastes  differently 
in  the  Model  Dairy  from  a  sundae  anywhere  else.  It  cer- 
tainly will  to  me,  since  I  confess  I  have  never  tasted  one  any- 
where. What  in  the  world  is  it  anyway?" 

Cecil  got  up.  "With  such  a  programme  before  us,"  she 
said,  "I  think  it's  time  to  turn  in." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Pamela,  hiding  a  yawn.  "Durban,  with 
all  your  praise,  Gwen,  is  distinctly  hot  after  Griqualand. 
And  sleepy." 

"I  shan't  sleep  a  wink,"  declared  Gwen. 

"Oh  you  will,"  said  Mr.  Eldred.  "Take  her  off,  Cecil. 
And  don't  you  three  sit  up  talking  till  morning." 

The  girls  said  good-night  and  went  off.  "Have  a  night- 
cap ?"  suggested  Eldred  to  Ashurst  and  ordered  whiskies  and 
soda.  The  waiter  brought  them,  in  his  silent  Indian  fashion, 
and  Eldred  filled  up  the  chit.  "Would  you  have  cared  to 
come  round  to  the  club,  Ashurst?"  he  asked.  "I'm  sorry  I 
didn't  think  of  it  before.  I'll  put  you  up  to-morrow.  It'll 
be  useful  to  you  while  you  are  about  here.  The  Durban 
club  is  quite  excellent  you'll  find." 

"Thanks,"  said  Chris.  "It  would  be  useful  as  I  expect 
I  shall  run  up  here  fairly  often.  Is  Urfurd  a  member?" 

"Yes,  but  he  rarely  comes  to  town.  He's  a  queer  fellow, 
as  doubtless  you  know.  Still  every  man  has  his  own  life  to 
lead,  and  if  he  wants  to  do  it  in  one  way,  I  fail  to  see  why 
other  people  should  object.  However,  what  are  your  plans? 
Here's  to  the  best,"  he  added,  raising  his  glass. 

Chris  nodded  across  the  table.    "Cheerio,"  he  said,  and  put 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  135 

his  glass  down.  "I  haven't  any  very  definite  plans,"  he  went 
on.  "I  promised  Urfurd  years  ago  I'd  come  and  look  him 
up,  and  I  never  have,  though  I'm  a  rolling  stone.  Now  that 
I'm  here  I  may  as  well  see  as  much  of  the  country  as  pos- 
sible. Then  I  want  to  get  some  shooting  if  I  can,  and  have 
a  look  at  the  mines,  the  Falls,  Mont  aux  Sources,  and  so  on." 

"If  you  want  to  shoot,"  said  Eldred,  "try  Zululand  and 
the  border  of  Portuguese  East  Africa.  You  go  to  Semkele, 
a  day  by  train  from  here" — and  the  talk  drifted  off  into 
shooting  stories  and  plans. 

The  girls  said  very  little  to  each  other  for  once.  Pamela, 
at  Cecil's  door,  stopped  a  minute,  but  she  looked  into  Cecil's 
face  and  said  in  her  abrupt  way,  "Dear,  you're  dog  tired. 
I  shan't  come  in,  and  I'll  see  Gwen  to  her  room  for  you. 
Good-night,"  and  then  she  took  G wen's  arm  and  walked 
her  off. 

"It's  nice  to  have  you  about  again,  Gwen,"  she  said  when 
they  were  alone.  "I  don't  see  so  much  of  Cecily  now,  or  not 
as  much  as  I  did  when  first  she  came  home.  That's  natural, 
of  course,  but  I  miss  her.  Let's  talk  for  a  little;  I  haven't 
had  a  chance  for  a  word  with  you  really.  Did  you  enjoy 
the  voyage?  Anybody  interesting  on  board?"  And  she 
settled  herself  into  an  easy  chair. 

"Yes,  your  cousin  I  suppose.    He  led  everything." 

"Oh  he  would,"  said  Pamela.  "I  haven't  seen  much  of 
him,  you  know — a  summer  holiday  in  France  and  a  visit  or 
two  in  England — but  we  write  to  each  other  rather  more  than 
cousins  usually  do,  and  you  can  learn  to  know  Chris  from 
his  letters.  Especially  when  there  are  his  books  to  teach 
you  as  well." 

"I  like  that  about  him,  I  must  say,"  said  Gwen.  "He  isn't 
for  ever  talking  of  his  books." 

"And  what  don't  you  like?" 

Gwen  took  off  her  dress  and  hung  it  up  in  the  wardrobe. 
Then  she  slipped  on  her  kimono,  sat  down  on  the  bed  and 
finally  threw  herself  back  in  it. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Pamela  again,  "what  don't  you  like?" 


136  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"You  are  his  cousin ;  I  hardly  like  to  say,"  said  Gwen. 

Pamela  laughed.  "Oh  my  dear,"  she  said,  "don't  worry 
about  me.  Tell  me.  You  won't  offend  me  whatever  you 
say,  and  you  certainly  won't  prejudice  me  against  him  un- 
duly. You  are  quite  entitled  to  your  opinion,  but  so  am  I 
to  mine." 

Gwen  was  a  little  annoyed.  This  was  the  Pamela  she  re- 
sented. It  was,  she  thought,  as  if  Pamela  had  said,  'Of 
course  I  don't  care  in  the  least  what  you  think.'  An  older 
woman  would  have  punished  her  by  saying  nothing — a  really 
subtle  revenge,  but  Gwen  was  only  an  impulsive  girl.  She 
determined  to  be  almost  rude;  Pamela  had  asked  for  it. 
"He's  a  born  lady-killer,"  she  said,  "and  knows  it.  He  flirted 
abominably  on  board  with  a  ginger-haired  girl  from  Maritz- 
berg.  Quite  by  chance  I  saw  him  kiss  her  the  last  night. 
Oh!  I  shouldn't  have  said  that!" 

"Why  not  ?"  demanded  Pamela.  "I  take  it  it  was  truly  by 
chance  you  saw  them." 

Gwen  flushed.  "But  it  isn't  cricket  to  give  him — and  her 
— away." 

Pamela  raised  her  eyelids  a  fraction.  Then  she  smiled.  "It 
doesn't  matter  in  Chris's  case,"  she  said.  "I  should  think 
he  probably  kissed  half  a  dozen  girls  in  those  three  weeks. 
It's  second  nature  to  him.  It's  what  makes  him  so  inter- 
esting." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Gwen.    "Interesting?" 

"Of  course.  If  I  were  you  I  should  have  set  out  to  make 
him  want  to  kiss  me,  and  then  I  should  have  steadily  refused 
him.  A  man  who  has  kissed  nobody  is  no  conquest.  Any- 
one can  seduce  a  saint;  it's  something  worth  trying  to  re- 
form a  rake." 

Gwen  shifted  on  her  bed,  crossed  her  legs,  and  swung 
one  in  the  air  impatiently.  "Then  you'd  better  try,"  she 
said.  "He  certainly  Wants  reforming.  But  I'm  afraid  I'm 
not  so  interested  in  men  at  all.  Anyhow  you  will  have  Mr. 
Ashurst  at  Three  Springs  quite  long  enough  to  make  him 
want  to  kiss  you." 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  137 

Pamela  got  up.  "My  dear,"  she  said,  "Chris  and  I  were 
through  with  all  that  together  years  ago.  But  don't  be  ab- 
surd, Gwen.  Men  are  extremely  interesting.  The  interest 
there  is  between  men  and  women  is  half  the  interest  there 
is  in  the  world,  and  perhaps  more.  When  the  world  loses 
it,  the  world  will  commit  suicide.  But  there  is  not  much 
sign  of  that  yet,  on  the  whole.  I  must  go.  Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  said  Gwen  without  getting  up.  The  door 
closed.  "Oh  lor',"  said  Gwen  to  herself,  "I  wish  there  was 
somebody  else  at  Three  Springs." 

Cecil  got  rapidly  into  bed,  and  cuddled  down  into  the 
sheets  as  she  liked  to  do.  She  thought  she  would  have  a 
long  think.  It  began  with  a  consideration  that  the  next  day 
would  be  jolly,  and  it  ended  almost  as  soon  as  it  began. 

The  next  day  was  jolly  however.  Everybody  was  in  the 
best  of  tempers,  and  even  Gwen  and  Pamela  appeared  to  hit 
it  off.  Gwen's  pleasure  at  getting  paw-paw  for  breakfast 
again,  began  it.  Then  they  met  some  people  from  the  ship, 
and  all  went  off  to  the  beach  together  to  bathe.  They  were 
photographed  in  the  surf,  and  they  had  the  sundaes,  several 
of  them,  at  the  Model  Dairy.  Chris  asked  the  waitress  after 
the  cows,  and  insisted  on  going  off  with  Gwen  in  an  absurd 
attempt  to  find  the  centre  of  milking  operations.  When  the 
proprietor  appeared  (or  his  representative),  he  merely  asked 
him  to  dinner.  They  trammed  round  the  Berea  and  they 
visited  the  Zoo,  where  Pamela  made  instant  and  amazing 
friends  with  a  baboon  who  appeared  to  be  positively  broken- 
hearted on  any  threat  of  hers  to  leave.  Chris  said  it  was 
her  only  conquest  and  she  should  be  proud  of  it,  since  any 
woman  could  tame  a  man  but  very  few  could  conquer  a 
monkey.  At  this  Gwen  could  not  restrain  her  laughter,  and 
when  asked  why,  refused  to  say.  It  seemed,  however,  that 
Pamela  understood. 

Cecil  said  that  she  wanted  to  do  some  more  shopping,  and, 
when  pressed,  admitted  that  it  was  knickers  for  Ronnie  she 
had  in  mind.  They  therefore  went  shopping  for  knickers 
in  a  body,  till  Mr.  Eldred  could  stand  it  no  longer  and  bolted 


138  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

off  to  the  club  taking  Christopher  with  him.  Left  to  them- 
selves, the  girls  inspected  a  large  number  of  things  that 
they  remembered  they  wanted  to  buy,  and  finally  bought  a 
few  things  they  did  not  want.  They  strolled  on  to  the 
Parade  and  purchased  seats  at  the  theatre  for  the  evening's 
performance.  And  they  ascended  to  the  Royal  through  the 
gardens  at  the  back,  and  were  finally  discovered  by  the  men 
•drinking  cherry  brandies  on  the  stoep. 

Ashurst  proved  himself  the  best  of  company  at  the  cine- 
matograph. He  sat  between  Pamela  and  Cecil,  and  merely 
imitated  the  ordinary  observer.  Chris  cheering  the  hero 
was  bad  enough,  but  Chris  weeping  over  the  fall  (that  didn't 
quite  come  off,  as  he  put  it)  of  the  heroine,  was  altogether 
too  much  for  Cecil.  He  really  acted  extraordinarily  well, 
not  over-doing  it,  but  being  apparently  moved  almost  to 
tears.  They  left  a  little  before  the  end  by  mutual  consent. 
To  continue  to  laugh  was  impossible. 

Outside,  Gwen  decided  for  them  that  it  should  be  a  ques- 
tion of  rickshaws.  Chris  summoned  one  and  crowded  El- 
dred,  Gwen  and  Pamela  in.  He  had  charge  of  the  party  by 
now  and  no  one  thought  of  disobeying  him.  It  was  lost  in 
the  darkness  before  he  found  a  second.  He  helped  Cecil  in. 
"It's  a  glorious  night,"  he  said.  "Do  let's  go  along  the 
Parade  first." 

"Do  you  think  we  ought?"  asked  Cecil. 

Chris  leant  over  her  and  tucked  the  rug  in.  The  very 
action  was  a  caress,  she  thought,  and  a  caress  that  already 
seemed  natural.  Cecil  felt  that  if  this  strange  man  took  her 
hand,  even  if  he  kissed  it,  it  would  not  seem  remarkable. 
But  he  was  not  in  the  least  demonstrative ;  he  did  not  attempt 
to  flirt  as  she  would  have  used  the  phrase;  and  he  was  ap- 
parently entirely  unaware  that  she  felt  him  to  be  different 
from  other  men  she  had  met.  When  he  answered  her,  how- 
ever, it  was  with  that  cool,  almost  insolent  air  that  she  had 
felt  the  evening  before. 

"Ought  ?"  he  queried  then,  "what  oughts  or  ought  nots  are 
there  in  life,  I  wonder,  except  those  of  our  own  imaginings?" 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  139 

The  lights  of  the  ships  in  the  harbour  twinkled  over  the 
still  waters,  and  on  the  Bluff  the  great  eye  of  the  lighthouse 
gleamed  and  faded  and  gleamed  again,  steadily.  A  little 
wind  blew  across  the  bay,  and  the  branches  of  the  coco-nut 
palms  planted  along  the  road  rustled  above  them.  Other- 
wise it  was  very  still.  The  boy's  bare  feet  made  little  noise, 
and  the  rubber  tyres  of  their  rickshaw  slipped  easily  over 
the  ground.  Occasionally  a  bell  tinkled  at  a  corner  and  an- 
other rickshaw  hurried  by,  but  except  for  that  they  passed 
swiftly  along  in  a  kind  of  magical  isolation. 

"There  are  at  least  the  Commandments,"  said  Cecil, 
and  it  did  not  seem  unnatural  that  in  a  moment  they  two 
should  pass  from  the  trivial  talk  of  the  evening  to  deeper 
things. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said  again.  "Sinai  was  imagination  too,  I 
think.  The  priests  of  late  Israel,  anxious  to  have  divine  ap- 
proval behind  their  codes,  wrote  up  the  thunder  and  the 
lightning  and  the  quakings.  Very  likely  in  good  faith.  And 
they  succeeded.  They  have  imposed  the  story  on  the  world 
for  three  thousand  years.  It  has  been  a  dreadful  spectre, 
but  if  you  look  closely  it  is  little  more  than  a  hollowed 
turnip  and  a  candle-end!" 

Cecil  was  silent.  Such  an  interpretation  had  never  oc- 
curred to  her,  and  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  beyond  her. 
But  it  was  as  if  something  within  had  cried  that  he  was 
right,  that  she  had  been  waiting  for  this. 

"No,"  he  went  on,  and  hardly  as  if  to  her,  "that  which 
commands  a  man  must  have  something  stronger  behind  it 
than  that.  'Adam  knew  Eve';  'Cain  rose  up  and  slew  his 
brother';  'Elijah  girded  up  his  loins  and  ran'; — there  are 
deep  things.  Deep  calling  to  deep — passions,  loves,  hates. 
I  know  of  no  commandments  to  order  these.  Only  love  can 
control  them.  God  made  man,  but  He  breathed  His  own 
spirit  into  him.  He  made  a  man,  but  He  quickened,  for 
good  or  ill,  a  god." 

"The  world  would  be  impossible  if  we  all  acted  on  such 
ideas,"  said  his  companion. 


140  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"Do  you  find  it  so  possible  now?"  he  demanded.  "I  do 
not." 

The  boy  turned  up  towards  Smith  Street.  Half  way  up, 
he  slowed  down  almost  to  a  walk  because  of  the  steep  in- 
cline, and  Chris  leant  forward  to  help  him.  "I  must  say  I 
pity  these  boys,"  he  said  in  a  different  tone.  "They  make 
money,  I  suppose,  but  they  pay  for  it  with  their  lives  in  the 
end.  Why  should  we  white  people  teach  them  our  own  false 
exchange  ?" 

Cecil  laughed.  "You're  in  a  very  critical  mood,  Mr.  Ash- 
urst,"  she  said. 

"Am  I?  I  always  am,  I  think.  The  world  hasn't  been 
particularly  good  to  me,  up  to  date.  It  offers  all  sorts  of 
nice  things,  but  they  mostly  turn  out  to  be  like  the  rickshaw 
boy's  bargain  in  the  end." 

"You  were  not  so  pessimistic  last  night,"  said  Cecil.  "I 
rather  gathered  then  that  you  loved  the  world  and  all  things 
in  it." 

"It  is  you  who  must  not  be  so  critical  now,"  he  retorted, 
smiling.  "Besides  truth  is  always  contradictory.  But  I  did 
not  say  I  loved  it.  I'm  interested  in  men  and  things  and 
places — very,  but  it  has  all  been  a  shadow-show  so  far." 

It  was  Cecil,  then,  who  said  the  first  provocative  thing. 
"Do  you  see  no  signs  of  anything  better,  Mr.  Ashurst?"  she 
asked. 

But  despite  the  character  Gwen  had  given  him,  he  did  not 
take  advantage  of  the  opening.  And  yet  his  answer,  spoken 
as  the  boy  stopped  in  front  of  the  hotel,  did  not  displease 
her.  "Hope  escaped  from  Pandora's  casket  as  well  as  all 
the  ills,  you  know,  Mrs.  Sinclair,"  he  said. 

Cecil  felt  Pamela's  eyes  to  be  resting  on  her  as  they 
climbed  the  steps.  Instinctively  she  crossed  over  to  the  side 
on  which  her  friend  was  sitting  and  pulled  a  chair  up  near 
her.  Chris,  paying  off  the  boy,  slipped  into  a  seat  next 
Gwen  with  a  tragic  air.  "I  shall  not  sleep  to-night,"  he  de- 
clared ;  "indeed  I  doubt  much  if  I  shall  ever  sleep  again.  I 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  141 

am  convinced  that  Veronica's  cowboy  could  not  have  es- 
caped. Lions,  yes;  Red  Indians,  yes;  express  trains  when 
he  was  bound  hand  and  foot  on  the  rails,  yes;  but  the  eyes 
of  that  terrible  woman — what  was  her  name?  Oh,  yes, 
Cynthia — Cynthia  with  the  peroxide  hair,  never." 

"Oh  do  be  quiet,"  said  Gwen,  laughing  again.  "We  were 
just  getting  over  it  all.  Why  did  you  two  come  back  at  all? 
Father,  order  something  for  Mr.  Ashurst,  please.  Poor 
Cecil,  you  must  have  had  a  bad  time  in  your  rickshaw." 

"Your  sister  would  have  it  that  there  was  hope,"  groaned 
Chris,  "but  I  could  not  believe  her.  Still,  there  does  remain 
whisky.  I  entirely  agree  with  you,  Eldred,  that  the  moment, 
long  expected,  has  at  last  come." 

Gwen  gave  a  mock  sigh.  "Men  are  poor  creatures,"  she 
said.  "Without  drinks  and  constant  tobacco,  they  do  not 
appear  to  be  able  to  live." 

"They  have  to  move  among  women,  Miss  Eldred,  you 
forget  that,"  said  Chris.  "But  I  take  the  hint ;  will  you  have 
a  cigarette?"  And  he  offered  her  his  case. 

"If  you  smoke  so  much,  Gwen,  your  mother  will  be  horri- 
fied," said  Mr.  Eldred.  "But  I  see  you  need  one  now.  You 
ought  not  to  attempt  to  spar  with  Mr.  Ashurst.  He's  more 
than  your  match,  my  dear." 

"No,  no,  you're  wrong,"  said  Chris  quickly.  "Your 
daughter  has  kept  me  in  my  place  for  three  weeks,  Eldred, 
and  I  only  survive  by  adventitious  aids." 

On  the  morrow,  in  the  car,  the  two  men  sat  in  front  and 
the  three  girls  behind.  Pamela  and  Gwen  did  most  of  the 
talking,  sparring  now  and  again  to  Cecil's  amusement,  but 
she  kept  very  quiet.  Motoring  usually  had  that  eflect  upon 
her.  It  was  pleasant  to  be  so  near  the  earth — not  to  feel 
one's  self  removed  from  it  as  one  does  in  a  train,  and  yet  to 
speed  along  so  swiftly  and  so  comfortably.  When  one  walks, 
one  is  subject  to  the  laws  of  the  earth;  its  moods  make  all 
the  difference;  its  hills  mean  sweat  and  toil;  its  pleasant 
places  are  gifts.  But  in  a  car,  one  is  divine.  The  world  is 


142  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

subdued.  If  it  offers  good  things,  one  can  accept  if  one  will; 
if  otherwise,  one  can  scorn  them.  Yet  man  is  a  poor  sort  of 
a  god.  A  tin-tack  will  destroy  his  empire. 

But  Cecil  had  much  to  think  about.  She  was  travelling 
the  road  she  and  her  father  had  passed  over  three  years 
before.  Week  had  followed  week  and  she  had  not  seemed 
to  change,  but  this  reminder  suddenly  apprised  her  of  the 
change  they  had  wrought  in  her.  It  seemed  scarcely  pos- 
sible that  three  years  could  have  made  such  a  difference. 
Wife  and  mother ;  well,  of  course  those  were  big  things.  She 
told  herself  that  they  were  enough  in  themselves  to  account 
for  it.  But  she  knew  it  was  not  so.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
she  had  become  a  wife  and  a  mother  incidentally  as  it  were : 
had  grown  into  them.  They  had  brought  ecstasy,  yes ;  pain, 
oh  yes ;  but  both  had  been  passing  things  which  had  come  and 
had  gone,  leaving  her  changed,  true,  but  still  Cecil.  Yet  now 
she  hardly  felt  as  if  she  were  the  Cecil  of  three  years  ago  at 
all.  Why?  Why?  Why?  The  whirr  of  the  engines  cried 
it  to  her,  but  the  passing  landscape  had  no  answer. 

Fate,  indeed,  scrawled  a  reply  in  front  of  her  in  rough 
fashion,  but  she  could  not  read  the  writing.  At  a  turn, 
Eldred  had  to  brake  suddenly  for  a  tiny  naked  tot  of  a 
native  child  straggling  across  the  road.  On  the  instant,  a 
woman  leapt  from  a  thicket  of  young  wattle,  snatched  it  up, 
cast  one  frightened  glance  at  them,  and  fled.  Chris,  leaning 
round,  caught  her  eyes,  and  smiled.  She  smiled  happily 
back.  The  car  sped  on. 


CHAPTER  III 

OH  don't,  Pam!"  cried  Cecil,  "don't!  don't!" 
The  three  of  them  stood  in  Pamela's  cave,  whither 
they  had  come  after  an  early  breakfast  the  next  morning. 
The  arrangement  had  been  that  Cecil  should  at  once  take 
the  road  for  home,  but  Mr.  Urfurd  begged  her  not  to  start 
before  midday  as  he  particularly  wanted  to  finish  some  writ- 
ing. Cecil  consoled  her  conscience  with  the  thought  that 
as  she  was  guest  and  he  host,  she  could  hardly  object ;  and 
when  Pamela  had  proposed  a  visit  to  the  cave,  she  had 
jumped  at  it.  Pamela  had  said  that  it  was  Sunday,  and 
that  as  they  could  not  go  to  church  they  would  pay  a  visit 
to  Anubis.  This  had  naturally  aroused  Chris's  interest, 
which  deepened  with  all  he  heard.  Easily  enough,  then, 
the  three  of  them  had  set  off  together. 

It  was  a  fair  and  golden  morning  when  they  started,  but 
had  clouded  over  later.  Now  the  air  felt  heavy  and  oppres- 
sive, and  the  discovery  of  Nanea,  sitting  there  in  the  lip 
of  the  cave  among  the  bushes  as  if  waiting  for  them,  had 
brought  things  to  a  climax.  Chris  had  seen  her  first,  and 
had  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment.  He  well  might 
have  done. 

Nanea  had  pushed  the  bushes  back  from  Pamela's  skele- 
ton and  was  sitting  at  its  head.  She  was  wearing  only  a 
Zulu  girl's  belt  and  squatting  on  her  hams.  In  her  hands 
was  the  skull  of  the  figure,  and  she  was  staring  into  its 
eyeless  sockets. 

Pamela  had  come  forward  instantly  and  had  spoken 
sharply  to  her.  She  had  answered,  but  without  lifting  her 
eyes.  Then  the  white  girl  had  looked  back  quickly  at  Chris 
and  said:  "This  is  Nanea,  the  daughter  of  a  native  wizard, 

143 


144  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

and  really  an  extraordinary  creature.  I  hypnotise  her  at 
times,  and  should  like  to  do  so  now.  You'll  see  something 
interesting,  Chris." 

"My  word,  Pamela,"  he  had  said,  stepping  eagerly  up, 
"I  did  not  know  you  went  in  for  that  sort  of  thing.  Cer- 
tainly; give  us  an  exhibition."  And  then  with  a  smile  and 
a  backward  glance  at  Cecil :  "We  do  cross  the  edge  of 
civilisation  up  here,  apparently." 

Cecil  had  stood  still  for  a  moment,  uncertain,  and  in 
that  moment  Pamela  began.  She  had  gone  round  to  the 
feet  of  the  skeleton,  and  then,  looking  across  it,  had  caught 
and  held  Nanea's  eyes  with  her  own.  "Nanea!"  she  had 
called  sharply,  "you  know  me?  Good.  Then  sleep — you 
are  tired — very  tired — you  cannot  keep  your  eyes  open — 
sleep — sleep — sleep.  .  .  ." 

From  where  she  stood  Cecil  could  not  see  the  native  girl's 
face,  but  suddenly  a  sense  of  the  situation  fell  on  her  with 
an  almost  physical  horror.  Her  friend  in  her  long  fawn 
coat  and  riding  breeches,  clean,  white,  English;  the  naked 
girl  with  that  fearful  thing  in  her  hands ;  the  bones  between 
them;  and  last,  and  possibly  the  worst,  Chris's  keen  half- 
smiling  face  intently  watching.  "Oh  don't,  Pam !"  she  cried, 
"don't!  don't!" 

No  one,  however,  took  the  slightest  notice  of  her.  Pain's 
voice  had  sunk  to  a  sibilant  whisper,  but  with  something  of 
such  command  in  it  that  Cecil  herself  felt  to  be  all  but  fall- 
ing under  its  sway.  She  ceased  to  speak,  and  watched.  A 
stillness  seemed  to  settle  on  them  all  in  that  heavy  air,  and 
there  was  no  sound  of  bird  or  beast  about,  nothing  save 
only  the  ceaseless  plash  slightly  to  the  right  of  the  little 
stream  from  the  head  of  the  cave  above.  And  then  there 
was  a  little  clatter,  and  Cecil  shuddered.  The  skull  had 
slipped  from  the  girl's  hands  and  fallen  back  among  the 
bones. 

Pamela  stirred  now  and  seated  herself  more  comfortably 
on  the  ground.  She  did  not  take  her  eyes  from  Nanea's 
face,  but  she  spoke  in  an  ordinary  tone  to  her  cousin.  "There 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  145 

you  are,  Chris,"  she  said.  "She  is  completely  under  con- 
trol." 

"Test  her,"  said  Chris. 

"Stand,"  said  Pamela,  and  Nanea  rose  instantly,  revealing 
herself  as  a  splendidly  made  native  woman  as  she  stood 
there  upright  in  full  view.  "Raise  your  left  arm — your  right 
— straight  above  your  head,"  said  Pamela  in  Zulu,  and 
the  girl  obeyed  each  direction.  Christopher  understood 
nothing,  and  it  was  plain  his  ignorance  of  the  commands 
irritated  him.  "Tell  her  to  pick  up  that  skull,"  he  said,  and 
Pamela  obeyed  him.  Nanea  did  as  she  was  bidden,  and 
stood  there,  not  looking  at  it  as  before,  but  holding  it  care- 
lessly in  her  hands.  "To  give  it  to  me,"  said  Chris,  and 
at  the  white  girl's  word,  she  turned  and  moved  across  with 
it  to  the  man,  holding  it  out.  He  took  it,  glancing  at  it 
curiously.  Then,  placing  it  swiftly  at  his  feet,  he  stood  up, 
fumbled  a  moment  with  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  and  made  a 
quick  movement  towards  the  fleshy  part  of  the  girl's  right 
arm.  She  did  not  move.  Slowly  and  deliberately  he  pressed 
his  fingers  on  the  flesh,  and  still  she  did  not  move.  Then 
he  removed  them,  and  Cecil  gave  a  little  gasp,  for  between 
his  fingers  was  a  steel  point  that  gleamed  scarlet,  and  on 
the  dark  flesh  gathered  a  globule  of  blood  that  trickled  down 
the  arm.  "So  far  as  I  can  see,  it  is  perfect,  Madame,"  said 
Chris  carelessly.  "But  the  exhibition,  except  for  the  stage 
and  the  subject,  is  not  uncommon  you  know." 

"No,"  said  Pamela,  "but  wait  a  minute.  Nanea!  sit 
down." 

The  girl  sat  where  she  stood,  native  fashion.  "Turn 
round,"  said  Pamela;  and  she  did  so.  "Good;  now  sleep 
again.  Nanea!  sleep." 

A  little  silence  fell,  Pamela  staring  at  the  Zulu,  Chris 
watching  interestedly.  Suddenly,  Pamela  spoke  again, 
sharply.  "Haketsebe!"  she  called.  There  was  no  reply, 
and  silence  fell  again.  Chris  moved  slightly  nearer  and 
trod  on  a  stick  which  snapped.  And  then,  so  unexpectedly 
that  Cecil  started,  a  voice  said  something.  Cecil  half  glanced 


146  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

round  seeking  it  elsewhere,  but  Chris's  face  changed  and 
he  took  an  eager  pace  forward.  Cecil,  then,  followed  the 
direction  of  his  eyes,  and  saw  that  the  voice  issued  from 
Nanea's  lips.  But  as  she  watched  her  flesh  crept.  For  it 
was  not  Nanea's  voice  that  spoke,  nor  did  she  understand 
a  syllable  of  the  strange  sounds  that  appeared  to  come  from 
her  lips.  The  words — if  words  they  were — were  rapid,  and 
more  like  the  twittering  of  birds  than  human  speech,  except 
that  clicks  sounded  in  them  of  which  some  were  not  unlike 
those  of  the  Zulu  tongue.  The  talking  went  on  for  some 
few  seconds  without  the  others  saying  anything,  and  then 
Pamela  spoke  across  the  stream  of  it.  "Hear  that?"  she 
said  to  Chris,  sharply. 

"What  is  she  saying?"  he  demanded. 

"I  haven't  an  idea,"  said  Pamela. 

"But  what  language  is  it  ?"  he  asked  in  a  puzzled  voice. 

"Listen,"  said  his  cousin.  "Have  you  no  idea?  Think 
of  what  you've  read." 

For  a  few  seconds  the  stream  of  that  ghostly  talk  was 
the  only  sound.  Then,  suddenly: 

"By  God!"  exclaimed  Chris,  "Bushman's?" 

"I  think  so,"  said  Pamela  intently. 

Once  again  silence,  except  for  that  querulous  voice  from 
the  Past,  which  riveted  their  attention.  It  seemed  hours 
to  Cecil,  who  had  leaned  on  a  rock  and  felt  faint  with  the 
horror  of  it.  Click,  click,  tweet,  tweet,  click — it  ran  on,  an 
odd  voice,  high-pitched,  feminine;  and  then  a  chuckle  of 
laughter.  At  that  the  scene  swam  before  Cecil's  eyes,  but 
she  saw  Chris's  excited  movement.  "God!"  he  exclaimed 
again,  and  no  wonder,  for  there  was  that  in  the  laughter 
that  was  sinister,  dead,  without  merriment.  But  it  ceased, 
and  with  it,  all  human  sound. 

As  if  far  away,  Cecil  heard  Pamela  talking,  and  her  cool 
well-known  voice  steadied  her  with  every  sentence.  "That 
is  Haketsebe,"  said  Pamela.  "I  have  heard  her  more  than 
once,  but  who  she  is,  I  do  not  know.  That  is  why  I  call  her 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  147 

Haketsebe.*  It  is  hard  to  determine,  since  I  cannot  under- 
stand a  word  she  says,  but  I  believe  it  is  a  clear  case  of 
multiple  personality.  Sekeke — her  old  father — understands 
what  is  said,  or  says  he  does,  but  nothing  will  induce  him 
to  translate  to  me.  She  speaks  fairly  frequently  when  Nanea 
is  asleep,  I  believe,  and  often  as  a  result  of  hypnosis,  but 
not  always.  The  phenomenon  either  when  about  to  happen 
or  after  happening,  usually  brings  Nanea  here,  though  why 
she  does  not  know.  Sekeke  brings  her  here  sometimes  and 
induces  her  to  sleep,  but  not  always  successfully.  But  when 
she  comes  of  her  own  accord,  if  he  knows  of  it,  he  invari- 
ably comes  too.  I  take  it  that  to-day  he  does  not  know. 
Judging  by  the  fact  she  has  no  blanket,  I  think  she  probably 
slipped  out  from  the  hut  under  the  unconscious  influence  of 
Haketsebe  and  came  here  unseen.  That  is  why  I  was  anxious 
to  hypnotise  her,  and  why  I  called  Haketsebe.  We  are 
lucky ;  it  is  often  months  and  I  get  no  such  chance." 

"Make  her  speak  again,"  said  Chris. 

"I'll  try,  but  I  can't  be  sure,"  Pamela  replied. 

Cecil  caught  at  a  knob  of  rock.  "Haketsebe!"  called 
Pamela  authoritatively,  and  repeated  the  name  two  or  three 
times,  adding  in  Zulu.  "Speak  in  this  language,  if  you 
can." 

The  watchers  had  almost  despaired  of  more  when  there 
came  a  sound  of  that  laughter  again,  and  as  it  died  away 
a  single  sentence.  Chris  came  close  up  to  Pamela.  "Tell 
her,"  he  said,  speaking  so  low  that  Cecil  could  hardly  hear, 
"that  you  do  not  understand ;  insist  on  it ;  and  say  that  she 
is  to  speak  in  Zulu." 

Pamela  nodded,  and  spoke  rapidly  in  Zulu.  There  was 
no  reply.  She  spoke  again  more  slowly,  and  again  there 
was  no  reply.  "It's  no  good,  you  see,"  she  said. 

As  if  in  reply,  there  followed  almost  immediately  a  little 
burst  of  terrible  laughter  and  the  voice  said,  speaking 

*  Haketsebe  (Sesuto),  a  common  name  for  an  illegitimate  or 
doubtful  child.  Lit.:  "It  is  not  known." 


148  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

brokenly  in  Zulu  but  so  that  even  Cecil  understood  the 
simple  words:    "You  are  not  my  mistress." 

Cecil  marvelled  at  Pamela's  coolness.  Her  friend,  with- 
out a  trace  of  fear  or  surprise,  answered  that  dead  or  devil- 
ish voice  in  the  simplest  possible  Zulu  again.  "No,"  she 
said,  "I  am  not.  But  tell  me  who  you  are  and  why  do  you 
come,  and  if  I  can  help  you  at  all." 

"The  white  queen,"  said  that  mocking  hideous  voice, 
"has  no  power  over  my  people  now." 

"I  know,"  said  Pamela.  "I  want  no  power.  But  I  would 
give  much  to  know  these  things." 

"That   which  drives   the  buck,   the   lion,   the  birds,   the 

winds,  the (a  word  which  Cecil  did  not  know)  drove 

us,  and  drives  her,"  said  the  voice  from  Nanea. 

"And  what  is  that  ?"  asked  Pamela. 

The  voice  spoke  a  word  hesitatingly.  Chris  looked  en- 
quiringly at  Pamela.  She  shook  her  head  impatiently  and 
questioned  again.  "I  do  not  understand  that,"  she  said. 
There  was  no  answer.  Pamela  made  a  little  gesture  of  im- 
potence. "She's  gone,  I  think,"  she  said. 

"Wait,  wait,"  said  Chris  imperiously. 

And  then  in  the  silence  began  a  little  sound  that  swelled 
louder  and  louder.  Even  Pamela  whitened  beneath  her 
tan.  Cecil's  knees  shook,  and  Chris  put  his  hand  on  Pa- 
mela's shoulder.  It  was  a  little  thin  sound  that  seemed 
to  come  from  far  away,  a  sound  of  weeping  which  lasted 
what  seemed  a  long  time,  and  then,  without  words, 
died  away. 

"Haketsebe !"  cried  Pamela  again,  with  a  new  note  in  her 
voice.  So  faint  that  Cecil  could  not  hear  distinctly,  there 
came  a  reply.  Pamela  leant  eagerly  forward  over  the  bones 
of  the  dead  woman  on  the  grass,  listening  intently.  Now 
and  again,  Cecil  caught  a  word  of  Zulu ;  now  and  again 
heard  a  click  as  if  of  that  other  speech;  and  once  Pamela 
interrupted  to  say  in  Zulu,  "Where?  Where?  I  did  not 
hear."  At  long  last  it  ceased,  but  neither  Nanea  nor  Pamela 
moved.  On  the  latter's  face  was  a  strange  set  expression. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  149 

Christopher  broke  the  silence.  "What  did  she  say?"  he 
asked. 

Pamela  made  an  impatient  movement  Then:  "Nanea!" 
she  called,  and  again  "Nanea!" 

The  girl  stirred.  "Look  at  me,"  commanded  Pamela, 
and  Cecil  observed  for  the  first  time  that  the  Zulu  had 
dropped  her  eyes  from  Pamela's  face,  for  how  long  she 
could  not  say.  Now  she  raised  them,  however,  soft  and 
limpid,  and  fixed  them  on  Pamela.  Her  friend  made  a 
few  passes,  and  spoke  quickly  in  Zulu.  "Wake,"  she  said 
at  last,  "wake.  Your  sleep  is  over.  You  are  awake. 
Nanea!"  And  she  got  up. 

The  native  girl  sat  on  for  a  moment  motionless,  and  then 
lifted  her  left  hand  to  the  puncture  in  her  right  arm  which 
she  felt  and  glanced  at.  She  dropped  her  hand  and  got  to 
her  feet,  and  rubbed  her  eyes.  Then  she  seemed  to  see 
Pamela.  "Chief tainess !"  she  said  in  Zulu,  recognising 
Pamela  as  if  for  the  first  time  that  morning,  and  lifted  her 
hand. 

Pamela  smiled.  "Go  home,"  she  said.  "You  should  not 
come  here,  Nanea.  See,  here  are  two  tikkies.  Go  you  and 
get  your  blanket  and  sleep  at  home;  you  are  tired.  Go  in 
peace,  Nanea." 

The  Zulu  glanced  once  carelessly  at  Chris  and  then 
turned  away.  She  recognised  Cecil,  and  as  she  passed  her, 
she  smiled.  Cecil  could  not  say  a  word,  but  watched  her 
as  she  went  on  down  the  rough  slope  till  the  bushes  hid  her. 
Then  she  glanced  at  the  others.  Chris  was  holding  a  match 
to  a  cigarette  between  Pamela's  lips.  "Give  me  one,  please," 
she  said  faintly. 

Pamela  turned  to  her.  "Sit  down,  Cecil,"  she  said 
quickly ;  "it's  all  right,  dear,"  and  she  came  quickly  towards 
her.  "Chris,  get  some  water,  will  you?" 

Despite  the  thunder  in  her  ears  and  the  blackness 
around  her,  Cecil  felt  Pamela's  arm  and  leaned  eagerly 
against  her.  She  did  not  try  to  speak.  Then  she  felt 
water  lifted  to  her,  and  drank  eagerly  till  a  hair  caught 


150  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

in  her  lips.  She  made  a  little  movement  with  her  hand, 
saw  Chris  kneeling  before  her  with  his  sodden  cap  dripping 
in  his  hands  and  an  anxious  look  on  his  face,  and  could 
bear  up  no  longer.  She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
burst  into  tears. 

"There,  dear,  don't,"  said  Pamela.  "It's  all  right  now. 
I'm  so  sorry  we  did  it.  We  ought  to  have  thought  of  you. 
But  it's  all  right  really.  There's  no  harm  done.  Don't 
give  way  so." 

"What  did  that— that— that  voice  say,  Pam?"  demanded 
Cecil  looking  up,  woebegonely. 

"I  could  hardly  understand,"  answered  Pamela  evasively. 
"It  was  nothing,  anyway.  Don't  think  of  it.  Do  you  feel 
better  now?" 

Cecil  choked  back  a  lump  in  her  throat,  and  with  a  little 
motion,  put  back  the  thick  hair  from  her  eyes.  "I  want  to 
know,  Pam,"  she  said.  "I  must  know.  We  must  all  know. 
Pam,  please,  please,  tell  me." 

"You  had  better,  Pamela,"  said  Chris.  "Mrs.  Sinclair 
is  all  right  now.  We  saw  what  we  saw,  we  three,  and  we 
ought  to  know." 

Pamela  withdrew  her  arm  from  Cecil  and  got  up,  half 
turning  from  them  and  staring  out  down  the  gully  and  over 
the  river  to  the  mountains  beyond.  "I  would  rather  not 
say,"  she  said. 

Chris  held  his  hand  out  to  Cecil  and  she  took  it,  lifting 
herself  to  her  feet.  Then  he  produced  his  case  again,  and 
gave  her  a  cigarette,  lighting  it  carefully.  He  blew  the 
match  out,  and  looked  at  it  a  second  to  see  that  it  did  not 
glow  before  throwing  it  away.  Then  he  turned  to  his 
cousin.  "Well,  Pamela?"  he  said  enquiringly. 

Pam  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Really,"  she  said,  "it  was 
only  a  little  that  I  understood,  so  much  of  it  was  either 
Zulu  I  did  not  know,  or  that  other  tongue.  But  she  said, 
I  think,  that  Nanea  did  not  know  her,  and  must  not,  but 
that  she  dwelt  in  Nanea,  and  had  done  so  since  soon  after 
Nanea's  birth.  That  it  was  a  sorrow  for  Nanea  and  that 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  151 

she  should  leave,  but  dared  not.  If  she  did,  she  would 
be  'driven'  by  the  picture  on  the  walls,  which  she  called  by 
a  name  I  did  not  catch  or  could  not  understand.  She  said 
that  we,  too,  could  not  escape  it  (whatever  it  was),  and 
that  she  spoke  now  because  we  three  were  in  the  shadow 
of  its  hand.  We  should  learn  it  by — and  then  again  I 
could  not  hear,  and  asked,  as  I  suppose  you  heard.  She 
named  a  place,  but  I  could  not  catch  the  name.  However 
she  described  it,  'The  place  of  the  Fall  and  the  Pool  above 
the  Nek  of  the  Caves.'  There  would  the  strong  (you  I 
suppose,  Chris)  be  weak,  and  the  weak  (you  or  I,  I  don't 
know  which,  Cecil)  be  strong.  Then  there  was  a  good  deal 
more  that  was  quite  beyond  me,  and  then  one  sentence  whicn 
I  do  not  at  all  understand.  But  it  was  quite  clear." 

A  rock  pigeon  flew  from  the  cave  noisily,  and  Cecil, 
her  nerves  still  on  edge,  gave  a  little  cry  and  caught  the 
arm  of  Chris  who  stood  by  her.  He  just  glanced  at  her, 
and  then  looked  again  at  Pamela  who  had  not  moved. 
"Yes?"  he  said,  "and  that  was ?" 

"  'The  voice  of  the  child  is  not  to  be  silenced,' "  she  re- 
peated, bluntly. 

For  a  while  they  all  three  stood  silent  and  motionless. 
Then  Chris  shrugged  his  shoulders  almost  imperceptibly. 
"Come,"  he  said,  "let's  be  going.  I  am  grateful  that  I 
came  to  Africa,  Pamela,  and  to  Three  Springs.  It  seems 
that  you  live  here  with  the  gods." 

Pam  laughed,  and  glanced  at  Cecil's  face.  "Or  devils," 
she  said,  "eh,  Cecil?" 

She  had  scarcely  spoken  when  all  three  started  and 
looked  round.  There  was  a  sound  of  a  low  roll  of  thunder 
on  the  air  and  they  saw  that  a  black  cloud  had  come  up 
behind  the  hill  while  they  had  been  talking.  It  was  plain 
that  a  downfall  was  imminent.  "By  Jove,"  said  Chris, 
"we  might  be  in  a  pantomime !  Pamela  talks  of  devils  and 
at  once  the  thunder  rolls !  But  we're  in  for  it.  Let's  shelter 
in  the  cave." 

"Oh  no,"  cried  Cecil,  "not  the  cave.     I've  had  enough 


152 

of  that  cave.  There's  shelter  near  the  river,  Pam,  isn't 
there?  Under  those  cliffs  where  we  had  our  dinner  that 
day  we  first  came.  Let's  go  there." 

"Quickly  then,"  said  Pamela.  "It  will  begin  in  a 
minute." 

The  three  of  them  set  out  for  shelter,  sliding,  slipping, 
climbing  among  the  rocks  and  bushes.  The  exercise  did 
them  all  good,  and  soon  even  Cecil  was  laughing.  Chris 
proved  a  mighty  climber.  He  took  risks,  jumping  from 
rock  to  rock,  and  he  had  extraordinarily  strong  arms  which 
reminded  Cecil  of  Pamela's.  Once  she  found  herself 
stranded  on  a  bit  of  a  peak,  he  below  her,  and  called  out 
that  she  was  stuck.  He  reached  up  his  arms  and  told  her 
to  slide  forward.  It  seemed  perilous,  but  she  obeyed,  and 
just  as  she  felt  herself  unable  to  stop,  she  reached  his 
hands  which  clasped  her  waist  and  swung  her,  with  hardly 
an  effort,  to  safety  beside  him.  "Good,"  he  said  smiling, 
"you  are  not  afraid."  "You  are  so  strong,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing back ;  but  he  made  no  reply  except  to  hold  aside  a  bush 
for  her  to  pass. 

The  rain  began  half  way  down,  but  the  big  drops  were 
not  falling  thickly  till  they  reached  the  river's  level.  There, 
however,  it  began  in  earnest.  "Run !"  shouted  Pamela,  and 
led  the  way.  Chris  waited  a  second  for  Cecil  to  pass  him, 
and  then  tore  after  her.  The  storm  broke  in  a  fury.  Pant- 
ing and  dishevelled,  the  girls  reached  the  cliff  and  hesitated. 
Chris  passed  them  and  made  for  some  bushes  which  grew 
at  its  base.  These  he  pulled  towards  him,  and  revealed  a 
little  hollow  that  threaded  like  a  path  behind  them.  First 
Pamela  and  then  the  other  two  ran  up  it,  and  in  a  few 
yards  found  that  the  cliff  hollowed  out  still  more  and  made 
a  fair  shelter.  Pamela  dropped  on  her  hands  and  knees 
and  scrambled  as  far  in  as  possible,  and  Cecil  followed. 
"There's  heaps  of  room,"  she  panted  to  Chris. 

That  was  somewhat  of  an  exaggeration,  but  there  was 
certainly  some  shelter.  The  bushes  in  front  all  but  hid 
their  view,  and  the  rocks  curved  unpleasantly  near  their 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  153 

heads,  but  bunched  up  and  close  together  they  were  more 
or  less  dry.  Outside  the  rain  now  pelted  down,  and  in  a 
little  it  began  to  trickle  from  the  cliff  and  drip  on  to  them. 
But  the  shelter  served,  and,  as  Chris  said,  it  was  too  heavy 
to  last. 

"I  hate  a  storm  like  this,"  said  Pamela.  "It  makes  one 
feel  so  small.  We  talk  about  the  mastery  of  man,  but  in 
five  minutes  the  weather  can  make  us  run  to  holes  like 
rats!" 

Chris  laughed.  "If  we  did  not  wear  clothes,  and  did 
not  shelter  in  houses  until  our  bodies  were  altogether 
become  enervated,  it  would  be  different,"  he  said. 

"Not  altogether,"  put  in  Cecil.  "Even  natives  would 
hide  from  this." 

"Anyway,"  said  Pamela,  "Nature  is  really  our  mistress." 

Cecil  laughed.  "That's  the  chief  article  of  her  creed," 
she  said  to  Christopher. 

"Is  it?"  he  answered.  "Then  you  must  abandon  it,  fair 
cousin.  Man  has  fought  Nature  for  centuries  and  is  not 
far  off  winning  out.  Our  foes  are  now  of  our  own  house- 
hold. But  for  them,  we  should  be  masters  of  the  world, 
and  possibly  masters  of  the  universe." 

"Explain,  professor,"  said  Cecil. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "think  of  our  wealth  and  our  power  and 
our  numbers.  We  have  eliminated  distance,  and  every 
natural  obstacle.  The  world  lies  at  our  feet.  There  is 
nothing  we  could  not  undertake,  nothing  we  could  not  do. 
We  could  produce  so  fast  that  a  tenth  of  our  time  and 
our  labour  would  supply  all  our  needs.  The  rest  we  could 
give  to  any  enterprise.  We  should  first  re-arrange  the 
world;  select  distributing  centres;  build  air,  sea  and  land 
routes;  plan  cities,  gardens,  sanatoria,  workshops,  on  a 
reasonable  scheme ;  and  then  worthily  free  and  endow 
science.  There  is  but  one  obstacle — Man  himself.  He  is 
jealous,  petty,  covetous,  quarrelsome,  and,  worse  still, 
proud  and  damnably  obstinate.  Men  have  never  seriously 
combined — a  few  groups,  here  and  there,  yes,  for  selfish 


154  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

ends,  a  trade  that  it  may  defraud,  a  nation  that  it  may  rule, 
a  trust  that  a  few  owners  may  be  multi-millionaires.  That 
is  all.  But  nationality  is  rubbish,  class-war  lunacy,  and 
the  millionaires  are  but  poor  fools.  If  we  worked  to- 
gether, we  should  all  be  gods." 

"Yes,"  said  Pamela,  "jealous  gods,  petty  gods,  covetous 
gods,  quarrelsome  gods,  and  worse  still  proud  and  dam- 
nably obstinate  gods !  And  we  should  fall  from  heaven  and 
find  ourselves  in  hell.  Also,  would  there  be  goddesses?" 

Cecil  laughed.     "Answer,"  she  said,  nudging  Chris. 

"Kamerad,"  said  Chris  gravely,  attempting  to  hold  up 
his  hands. 

The  rain  spluttered  on.  Suddenly  Chris  burst  out  again. 
"That's  all  very  well,  Pamela,"  he  said,  "but  it  doesn't  end 
the  argument.  If  it  does,  then  let's  chuck  in  our  hands  and 
go  off  somewhere  and  live  like  savages.  What  I  mean  is 
just  this:  we've  advanced  in  commerce,  science,  education 
and  so  on,  but  we  have  as  yet  refused  to  see  that  the  great 
theories  underlying  our  civilisation  and  to  a  great  extent 
stultifying  it,  are  the  theories  of  savages.  I've  got  this,  and 
it's  mine;  you've  got  that,  and  it's  yours — we  glare  at  each 
other.  By  force  of  circumstances,  we  do  deals,  swopping 
goods,  and  by  force  of  circumstances  we've  introduced 
credits  and  moneys  and  created  vast  industries;  but  the 
principle  is  the  same  old  hideous  thing  that  it  was  in  the 
dawn  of  history  and  before.  If  we  pooled,  shared,  worked 
for  the  common  end,  we  should  change  the  whole  face  of 
the  world.  And  thank  God,  that  is  what  men  are  coming 
to  see.  It  is  the  under-dogs  who  see  it  first;  the  top-dogs 
shut  their  eyes  to  it.  But  the  under-dogs  are  the  more 
numerous,  and  they  must  win." 

Pamela  clasped  her  hands  round  her  knees.  "Go  on," 
she  said. 

"Well,  you  give  me  the  key.  The  women's  movement  all 
over  the  world  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  an  indication 
of  this.  They've  been  the  under-dogs,  the  property  of  men, 
classed  with  his  horses  and  houses  and  sheep  and  servants 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  155 

in  an  obsolete  commandment.  Men  have  fought  over  their 
heads,  and  fought  for  the  possession  of  them.  Now  they 
raise  a  cry.  They  demand  to  know  by  what  right  ?  Slowly, 
very  slowly,  they've  proved  that  women  can  do  things,  and 
they  ask  by  what  authority  their  sex  has  been  excluded 
from  this  and  limited  to  that.  There  is  no  answer,  except 
the  weak  one  that  it  was  the  old  law.  At  long  last  that 
has  been  laughed  out  of  court,  and  a  new  age  is  emerging, 
the  age  in  which  sex-war  or  sex-dominance  is  being  re- 
placed by  sex-co-operation  and  equality.  What  the  future 
may  hold  for  us  under  the  new  principle,  no  man  can  say, 
but  it  is  rosy  with  hope.  And  why  ?  Because  in  one  direc- 
tion at  any  rate,  we  are  going  to  combine." 

Still  Pamela  refused  the  challenge,  but  her  silence  seemed 
provocative. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  burst  out  Christopher,  "that  difference  of 
function  still  continues.  The  mother  is  eternal  and  must 
be,  but  even  there  new  principles  are  coming  into  light. 
The  family  was  the  basis  of  half  the  world's  woes.  Par- 
ents regarded  their  children  as  their  private  property.  For 
the  sake  of  the  children,  any  wrong  might  be  attempted. 
The  man  set  out  to  fight  that  he  might  make  a  place,  and 
always  a  still  better  place  for  his  children.  If  he  could  sell 
goods  at  a  penny  more  than  his  usual  profit,  he  sold  them 
at  that — for  the  sake  of  his  children.  For  his  family,  he 
aimed  at  a  place  in  the  sun — an  estate — and  that  he  won  at 
the  expense  of  others.  The  unity  of  the  family  made  for 
the  subjection  of  the  wife,  for  each  fighting  group  required 
a  leader.  We  must  cut,  then,  at  the  root  of  all  that.  The 
Christian  idea  of  the  family,  as  the  unit,  is  outworn  and 
must  go.  Children  belong  to  the  race — to  the  State  first, 
while  we  have  States,  but  in  the  end  to  the  race.  Mothers 
are  not  mothers  for  their  own  pleasure  or  profit,  still  less 
for  their  husband's.  All  human  life  is  knit  in  one.  We 
must  order  things  for  that  end.  There  will  be  liberty  for 
friendship,  for  art,  for  creative  genius,  for  enjoyment,  for 
sexual  pleasure;  but  the  rights  of  the  race  will  be  safe- 


156  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

guarded.  These  individual  activities  must  serve  and  not 
hinder  the  race.  The  rights  of  the  individual  will  be  al- 
lowed, on  the  other  hand,  so  long  as  that  quota  of  time 
and  service  which  each  owes  to  the  whole  is  freely  given  by 
him." 

"  'The  voice  of  the  child  is  not  to  be  silenced,' "  quoted 
Pamela,  ironically. 

Cecil  started.  She  had,  for  the  moment,  forgotten.  "Oh 
Pamela,"  she  cried,  "why  did  you  remind  us  of  that  awful 
woman  ?" 

Pamela  got  up.  "The  rain  has  stopped,"  she  said.  "Let 
us  go.  .  .  .  My  dear,  Chris  always  talks  a  queer  mixture 
of  sense  and  nonsense.  There  is  a  lot  of  sense  in  what  he 
says,  and  maybe  the  future  will  unfold  some  sort  of  com- 
munism, such  as  he  suggests.  I  do  not  know.  But  I  do 
know  that  we  must  grow  into  it.  Pain  and  travail  have 
lifted  us  from  such  conditions  as  those  in  which  the  Bush- 
men lived,  and  if  we  are  to  be  lifted  higher  still,  pain  and 
travail  must  still  do  it. 

"Nothing  begins,   and  nothing  ends, 
That  is  not  paid  with  moan.' 

There  is  no  other  road.  Meantime,  I  see  no  diminution 
in  the  power  of  the  old  laws.  When  a  man  says  to  a 
woman:  'You  are  free  to  do  as  you  please,'  he  has  ceased 
to  be  her  lover.  When  a  woman  says  to  her  child:  'You 
belong  not  to  me,  but  to  the  State,'  she  ceases  to  be  a 
mother.  It  may  come.  There  was  perhaps  a  time  when 
ape-men  ceased  to  be  apes  and  became  men ;  and  there  may 
perhaps  dawn  a  day  when  men  shall  cease  to  be  men. 
What  they  will  be,  God  knows.  Nor  do  I  much  care.  I 
am  a  woman.  Unless  I  am  much  mistaken,  so  are  you.  As 
for  Chris  here,  I  will  not  say.  Man  or  monster,  anyway,  get 
up,"  she  added  laughing,  "and  let's  be  going." 

Chris  got  up.  "I  am  a  man,"  he  said.  "But  I  see  a  new 
creation." 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  157 

"Possibly,"  retorted  Pamela  quickly,  "it  remains  to  be 
proved  that  you  are  fit  for  it" 

They  had  left  their  horses  at  some  huts  on  the  Pondo- 
land  side,  and  thither  now  they  went.  The  saddles  had 
been  under  shelter  and  were  dry  enough,  but  the  road  to 
the  crossing  of  the  river  was  slippery.  Also  before  long, 
it  began  again  to  rain.  The  Umtamvuna  was  very  full,  a 
roaring  muddy  stream  which  frightened  the  horses  though 
they  got  safely  over  at  last.  The  path  to  the  house  had 
been  in  places  all  but  washed  away,  and  they  rode  up  only 
by  picking  their  way  among  the  bushes,  grass  and  stones  to 
one  side  of  it.  At  Three  Springs,  Cecil  went  at  once  to 
change,  and  Pamela  to  find  her  father.  She  came  in  when 
her  friend  was  practically  dressed  and  was  about  to  put  on 
her  hat,  but  at  the  sight  of  it,  she  shook  her  head.  "You 
can't  go,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "Father  says  the  roads  will 
be  awful,  and  that  it  is  sure  to  pour  again." 

"Oh !"  cried  Cecil,  "but  I  must !  Heaven  knows  what 
Hugh  will  say." 

"My  dear  Cecily,"  said  Pamela,  "Hugh  is  not  a  fool. 
The  chances  are  they  have  had  a  storm  up  there,  for  this 
seems  to  have  come  along  the  range.  In  any  case,  he 
will  guess.  He  knows  you  are  here,  and  with  any  luck 
you  will  be  home  to-morrow.  Besides  you  can't  go,  and 
you  can't  send  a  message  anyhow,  and  there's  an  end  of 
it.  Even  if  we  sent  to  Harding  and  wired  to  Kokstad,  he 
wouldn't  get  it.  So  be  a  philosopher  for  once,  and  look 
forward  to  a  jolly  evening.  Personally,  I'm  delighted. 
Now  I'm  going  to  change  myself.  Chris  and  Father  are  in 
the  library;  do  go  and  find  them.  Lunch  will  be  ready 
shortly." 

Cecil  went,  but  in  the  library  Chris  was  alone,  wandering 
round  and  looking  at  books.  At  the  moment  he  was  hold- 
ing a  little  volume  in  his  hand,  and  standing  beneath  the 
bronze  of  the  dying  Zulu.  "Where's  Mr.  Urfurd?"  she 
asked. 


158  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"Gone  to  make  sure  the  horses  are  rubbed  down,  I  think," 
he  said.  "What  a  topping  library  he  has  got  here.  I  had 
no  idea.  Really  I  think  it  promises  to  be  a  delightful  visit ! 
Do  you  know  Arthur  Benson's  verse?  May  I  read  you 
something  quite  short?  I  call  this  a  perfect  poem: 

"  'Twas  hid  in  mist  to-day, 
The  land  I  love; 
Thin  veils  of  vapour  lay 
Around,  above. 

Tired  head  and  weary  hand,- 
Onward  I  fare; 
I  can  but  guess  the  land 
I  love  lies  there." 

Cecil  drew  a  deep  sigh.    "Read  it  again,"  she  said  softly. 

He  did  so,  and  replaced  the  volume,  she  not  caring 
whether  or  not  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  misty.  "Here 
is  another  modern  poet  that  I  like,  too,"  he  said.  "Quite 
different — mostly  quaint  translations  of  old  French  verse. 
(He  turned  the  pages  quickly.)  Listen.  This  is  the  last 
verse  of  'Baby's  Grace/ 

"  Praise  to  God  who  giveth  meat 
Convenient  unto  all  to  eat, 
Praise  for  tea  and  buttered  toast, 
Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost." 

Cecil  laughed.  "How  sweet,"  she  said.  "It  has  a  sort 
of  grave  sound,  too,  as  if  it  were  a  serious  matter." 

"It  is,"  said  Chris.  "That's  the  best  side  of  Christianity, 
which  we've  nearly  forgotten,  the  Christianity  that  carved 
grotesques  on  misericordes  and  set  grinning  gargoyles 
among  carven  saints.  Oh,  but  there  are  some  fine  books  in 
this  library !  Here's  a  delightful  sinner,"  and  he  took  down 
the  Villon  Societies'  edition  of  Frangois  Villon's  poems. 

"Read  me  something,"  said  Cecil.  "You  spoke  of  Villon 
at  Durban,  and  I  had  no  idea  whom  you  meant !" 

He  glanced  at  her  quizzically.  "There's  a  great  deal  in 
him  I  can't  read  to  you,"  he  said  with  a  smile,  "or  at  least 
I  don't  know  you  well  enough  yet.  Still,  listen  to  this." 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  159 

He  read  her  the  Ballad  of  Old-time  Ladies,  with  its 
Envoi : 

"Prince,  you  may  question  how  they  fare 
This  week,  or  liefer  this  year,  I  trow: 
Still  shall  the  answer  this  burden  bear, 
But  what  is  become  of  last  year's  snow?" 

Cecil  repeated  the  last  line,  and  sighed  a  little,  but  Chris 
did  not  seem  to  notice.  He  put  the  book  back,  and  sauntered 
on  round  the  well-filled  shelves.  Here  and  there  he  called 
her  attention  to  something — a  history,  a  volume  of  essays, 
a  novel — and  hit  off  book  after  book  in  a  sentence  or  two. 
Cecil  followed  in  a  sort  of  dream.  It  was  a  new  experience 
to  her.  "Have  you  read  everything  in  the  world?"  she 
exclaimed  at  last. 

He  smiled.  "Not  by  hundreds  of  miles  of  shelves,"  he 
said.  "I  never  visit  a  big  library  without  thinking  how 
little  I  have  read.  I  never  think  of  what  I  have  read  with- 
out bitter  grief  at  the  remembrance  of  what  I  have  for- 
gotten, and  I  never  remember  what  I  have  forgotten  with- 
out grieving  at  the  inadequacy  of  what  I  remember." 

"Then  why  read  at  all?"  said  Cecil,  laughing  merrily  at 
him.  "It  sounds  pretty  hopeless." 

Chris  turned  on  her,  a  book  in  hand,  and  looked  at  her 
steadily  for  a  second  or  two  without  replying.  She  re- 
turned his  gaze  frankly,  wondering,  as  she  had  done  more 
than  once  already  in  the  history  of  their  short  acquaintance, 
of  what  in  the  world  he  was  thinking  at  such  times.  Then 
he  sighed.  "You  are  more  right  than  you  know,"  he  said; 
"I  believe  it  is  hopeless.  Probably  men  like  myself  read  too 
much.  Our  own  thinking  is  dimmed,  effaced,  by  the 
thoughts  of  others.  We  are  shown  ten  thousand  mysteries 
that  cannot  be  unravelled,  and  in  the  end  we  despair  of 
there  having  been  any  revelation.  We  learn  of  so  many 
gods  that  we  follow  none.  We  dabble  in  so  many  sciences 
that  we  forget  the  science  of  our  own  hearts.  We  read  of 
so  many  theories  and  of  so  many  schemes,  that  we  build 
our  own  theories  on  theories  and  not  on  facts.  We  should 


160  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

be  of  all  men  the  most  miserable  if  it  were  not  for  one  thing. 
We  should  wander  ever  deeper  into  the  darkness  if  it  were 
not  for  that  one  thing.  And  even  so,  we  often  miss  it." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  Cecil,  softly,  but  with  a 
woman's  intuition  not  looking  at  him  now. 

"Don't  you?  Well,  I  expect  the  book's  here.  Let  me 
see.  .  .  .  Yes,  here  it  is.  Listen. 

"An  idle  poet  here  and  there, 
Looks  round  him;  but,  for  all  the  rest, 
The  world,  unfathomably  fair, 
Is  duller  than  a  witling's  jest. 
Love  wakes  men,  once  a  lifetime  each ; 
They  lift  their  heavy  lids,  and  look; 
And,  lo,  what  one  sweet  page  can  teach, 
They  read  with  joy,  then  shut  the  book. 
And  some  give  thanks,  and  some  blaspheme 
And  most  forget;  but,  either  way, 
That  and  the  Child's  unheeded  dream 
Is  all  the  light  of  all  their  day." 

He  shut  the  book  almost  reverently,  and  put  it  back. 
Cecil  did  not  move.  "Well  ?"  he  said  lightly. 

Cecil  turned  and  walked  to  the  window  without  a  word. 
But  Chris  did  not  follow  her.  In  the  silence,  they  could 
hear  the  pattering  of  the  rain  outside. 

Mr.  Urfurd  came  in.  "Hullo!  You  two  here,"  he  said. 
"Where's  Pamela?" 

Cecil  made  a  great  effort  and  pulled  herself  together.  She 
turned  to  him  smiling.  "Seen  to  the  horses,  Mr.  Urfurd?" 
she  said  lightly.  "Pam's  changing,  and  Mr.  Ashurst  has 
been  entertaining  me  by  talking  books ;  but  really,  you  know, 
I  cannot  imagine  what  Hugh  will  say." 


CHAPTER  IV 

SOME  weeks  later,  Cecil  was  sitting  sewing  on  the  stoep 
at  Springfontein  when  Hugh  came  in,  a  little  early  for 
lunch.     He  had  been  riding  on  the  farm,  and  he  stepped 
across  to  his  wife  and  kissed  her.    "Well,"  she  said,  "had 
a  good  ride?" 

"Yes,  my  darling;  you  should  have  been  there.  It  was 
glorious  out — not  too  hot  and  a  clear  view.  And  whom  do 
you  think  I  met?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  gathering  up  her  work. 

"Well,  Hardcastle  and  the  Urfurds'  cousin,  Ashurst. 
They  were  going  fishing." 

Cecil  dropped  her  work  carelessly,  and  stooped  to  pick  it 
up.  "You  don't  say  so,"  she  said,  her  face  hidden.  "I  had 
no  idea  Mr.  Ashurst  knew  the  Hardcastles." 

"It  seems  that  he  had>a  letter  of  introduction  and  arrived 
last  week.  I  rather  liked  the  look  of  him  and  asked  him  to 
call  soon.  You  don't  mind  ?  I  said  he  might  ride  over  for 
lunch  one  day,  if  he  cared  to  do  so.  By  the  way,  how  goes 
the  time  now  ?  My  watch  has  stopped — beastly  nuisance." 

"I'll  go  and  hurry  it  up,"  said  Cecil,  and  left  him.  She 
went  to  the  kitchen  to  tell  the  servants  to  bring  in  luncheon, 
and  then  to  her  room  to  wash  her  hands.  Thoughts  chased 
each  other  through  her  mind,  and  suddenly  she  stopped  dab- 
bling her  hands  and  stared  out  of  the  window.  If  Christo- 
pher Ashurst  should  speak  of  that  scene  in  the  cave!  She 
had  not  told  Hugh  of  it,  though  she  hardly  knew  why.  He 
would  be  a  little  annoyed,  of  course,  and  his  dislike  of 
Pamela  would  deepen.  Besides  he  was  utterly  sceptical  of 
that  sort  of  thing  and  would  hate  her  having  been  mixed  up 
at  all  in  it.  Pamela,  she  knew,  would  never  speak  of  it. 
But  would  Pamela  have  warned  her  cousin? 

1*1 


162  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

All  through  lunch,  the  thing  ran  in  her  mind  and  soon 
assumed  big  proportions.  She  felt  that  she  must  see  and 
warn  Chris  before  he  came.  And  he  might  come  to-morrow. 
She  had  a  feeling  that  it  was  not  likely  he  would  wait  now. 
A  plan  began  to  form  in  her  head,  but  she  would  have  to  be 
careful.  Hugh  must  not  suspect.  He  would  not  understand. 
He  might  even  be  suspicious.  She  looked  across  at  him, 
"Hugh,"  she  said,  "do  you  want  the  car  this  afternoon?" 

"No,"  he  said,  "why?" 

"Well,  I  want  some  more  wool  for  my  work.  I  must 
have  it,  and  I've  put  off  sending  for  it  for  days.  If  you  don't 
want  the  car,  I  thought  I  might  motor  into  Kokstad  and  get 
it.  I  could  take  your  watch  too,"  she  added,  with  a  happy 
inspiration. 

"I  fear  I  can't  come,"  he  said. 

"Can't  you  ?"  she  said.  "I'm  so  sorryA  but  I  didn't  mean 
to  bother  you.  You  know  I  can  manage  the  car  perfectly 
well  for  that  short  way,  and  I  could  take  a  boy,  of  course. 
I'd  rather  like  the  run." 

"Very  well,  dear,"  he  said.  "Go,  if  you  want  to,  but  do 
take  care.  The  road's  still  pretty  vile." 

She  immediately  changed  the  subject,  but  all  the  while  was 
asking  herself  if  she  dared  call  on  the  Hardcastles.  She 
started  when  Hugh  suggested  the  very  thing.  "You  might 
call  in  at  the  Hardcastles',"  he  said,  "and  renew  your  ac- 
quaintance with  Ashurst.  I  expect  he'd  be  delighted  to  see 
you." 

She  did  not  dare  look  at  him.  What  did  he  mean?  Did 
he  suspect  anything?  Of  course  not;  the  thing  was  absurd; 
besides,  what  was  there  to  suspect  ?  But  she  ruled  the  Hard- 
castles out  instinctively.  "Oh,  I  don't  think  so,"  she  said. 
"I  hardly  know  him.  If  he  wants  to  call,  he  will,  since 
you've  seen  him."  And  then  she  could  have  bitten  her 
tongue  out  for  saying  so,  and  added,  "Unless  I'm  delayed. 
Then,  perhaps,  I  might  drop  in  for  tea." 

"All  right,"  said  Hugh,  carelessly.  "Just  as  you  like. 
Don't  be  late,  though,  darling.  And  don't  tire  yourself." 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  163 

"Finished?"  queried  Cecil,  getting  up.  "I'll  go  and  get 
ready.  Would  you  tell  the  boys  to  get  the  car  out." 

She  went  to  her  room,  and  he  to  the  yard  to  see  about  the 
car.  She  frowned  at  herself  as  she  opened  the  wardrobe 
door.  What  should  she  wear  ?  As  if  it  mattered ! 

But  it  did  matter.  As  the  car  sped  swiftly  along,  taking 
most  of  her  attention  because  of  the  many  bumps  in  the  road, 
the  undercurrents  of  her  thought  ran  ever  more  swiftly  and 
clearly.  She  did  want  to  see  Christopher  Ashurst.  She 
wanted  it  with  all  her  heart  and  soul.  The  warning  was 
necessary — well,  an  advantage  at  any  rate — but  beneath  all 
that  she  wanted  to  see  him.  She  saw  his  face  mentally  as 
clearly  as  she  had  seen  it  on  that  first  meeting.  The  thought 
of  him  stirred  her  whole  body.  She  hardly  dared  to  ask 
herself  how  much  she  wanted  to  see  him,  but  the  desire 
lay  there,  utterly  insistent,  beyond  doubt. 

Should  she,  then,  go  to  the  Hardcastles'  ?  Now  she  said 
to  herself:  'Yes,  of  course,  it's  absurd  not  to';  and  now: 

'No,  it  won't  do,  Hugh  might '  Hugh  might  what  ?  She 

refused  to  answer  that.  Deliberately  she  avoided  the  turn- 
ing to  the  magistrate's  house.  Two  minutes  later  she  told 
herself  she  was  mad  to  do  so.  And  then  the  fates  stepped 
in. 

The  car  was  running  quietly  down  the  main  street,  under 
the  shady  trees  that  do  so  well  in  favoured  Kokstad  because 
the  water  supply  is  unlimited  and  a  little  runnel  sings  all 
the  year  along  each  side  of  the  road.  As  she  neared  the 
hotel,  she  saw  him.  Her  hands  trembled  on  the  steering 
wheel.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  He  was  standing  in 
the  entrance  with  his  back  to  the  street  talking  to  a  couple 
of  men.  Old  Mr.  Coxon  was  one ;  she  could  see  his  white 
beard.  Should  she  stop  ?  No ;  impossible.  She  must !  But 
how  with  the  men  there?  The  car  was  opposite;  it  was 
passing.  .  .  . 

Chris  turned  quickly,  on  an  unexplained  impulse,  for  no 
one  had  said  anything.  In  an  instant  his  hand  flew  to  his 
cap  and  he  took  a  couple  of  quick  steps  towards  her.  There 


164  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

•was  no  hesitation  about  him.  "Mrs.  Sinclair!"  he  called, 
and  she  slowed  down.  Her  blood  raced,  but  he  must  not 
see  it.  If  only  she  did  not  colour. 

"What  luck !"  he  was  saying.  "I  saw  your  husband  this 
morning,  and  now  you  this  afternoon.  Did  he  tell  you? 
I'm  staying  at  the  Hardcastles',  and  he  asked  me  to  call.  I 
was  coming  in  any  case,  but  I  hoped  we  might  meet.  The 
Hardcastles  said  they  knew  you  very  well." 

His  strong  hand  closed  over  hers.  It  was  utter  madness, 
but  she  hardly  dared  look  at  him.  "How  do  you  do  ?  How 
jolly  to  see  you  here,"  she  found  herself  saying  stupidly. 

"Fancy  you  motoring  alone !"  he  said  quizzingly.  "What's 
the  car?  A  Buick?  Where  are  you  off  to?  Let  me  drive 
you;  I've  nothing  to  do." 

Cecil  glanced  back  momentarily  at  the  men.  Old  Mr. 
Coxon  was  plainly  watching.  "Oh  I'm  only  going  a  little 
way  down  the  street,"  she  said.  "I  want  some  wool,  and 
I've  brought  Hugh's  watch  to  be  mended.  You're  walk- 
ing?" Then,  with  what  she  thought  was  an  idea,  "I  can 
drop  you  at  the  Hardcastles'  on  the  way  back — if  you  like," 
she  added. 

"Thanks  ever  so  much,"  he  said,  and  instantly  put  his 
hand  on  the  catch  to  open  the  door.  She  had  not  quite 

meant  that,  but Well  it  was  too  late  now.  The  door 

was  open.  "Shall  I  drive  you?"  he  queried,  hesitating  on 
the  step. 

"Oh  no,"  she  said,  "I'll  drive.  I've  no  distance  to  go. 
Get  in." 

The  little  business  of  restarting  the  car  restored  her  con- 
fidence. "You'll  not  be  the  least  use,"  she  said  gaily.  "You 
can't  possibly  match  wool !" 

"Can't  I  ?"  he  retorted ;  "you'll  see,"  and  she  instantly  per- 
ceived another  mistake.  He  would  enter  the  shop  with  her. 
Everyone  would  wonder  at  their  being  together.  Mrs. 
Furrie  would  tell  every  other  customer,  and  it  would  be 
half  over  the  town  in  an  hour.  She  knew  these  little  towns. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  165 

Hugh  would  hear.  He — well,  it  was  too  late.  She  slowed 
down  at  the  door. 

"Don't  bother  to  get  out/'  she  said  hurriedly.  "I  won't 
be  a  minute." 

But  he  was  already  out  and  forestalling  the  boy  behind. 
"Indeed  I  shall,"  he  said,  "and  I'm  coming  in  to  choose  the 
wool."  He  read  the  name.  "  'Furrie.'  Do  you  come  here 
often?" 

"Not  very,"  she  said  in  a  panic,  "but  (truthfully)  I  do 
all  this  sort  of  shopping  here." 

"Then  I  shall  haunt  the  place,"  he  said,  smiling  down  at 
her. 

They  bought  the  wool,  and  they  took  the  watch.  "Now 
for  the  Hardcastles',"  she  said,  settling  herself  in  the  seat. 

He  frowned.  "I  wish  the  Hardcastles  were  twenty  miles 
away.  Can't  you  run  me  a  little  out  this  way?  I  don't 
know  this  end  of  Kokstad." 

She  laughed.  (It  would  not  then  be  necessary  to  go 
back  up  the  main  street,  she  thought  quickly.)  "Yes,  if 
you  like,"  she  said,  "though  there  is  nothing  much  to  see. 
We'll  go  and  have  a  look  at  the  site  for  the  railway  station. 
In  our  life-time,  we  are  never  likely  to  see  much  else  here." 

"I  trust  not,"  he  said.  "Kokstad  is  delightful,  but  there 
are  other  places.  Don't  you  wish  this  was  Charing  Cross? 
How  would  you  like  a  little  dinner  to-night  at  a  foreign 
restaurant  in  Soho,  and  a  theatre  afterwards  ?" 

"Oh  don't,"  she  exclaimed.  "You  make  my  mouth  water. 
You  don't  know  how  I  long  to  get  away  sometimes  and 
see  the  world  a  bit.  I  went  from  Griqualand  to  London 
and  I  came  back  without  having  seen  anything  worth  speak- 
ing of,  and  here  I've  stuck  ever  since.  And  here  I  shall 
stick  for  all  my  days  I  think.  But  tell  me  of  places ;  I  love 
to  hear." 

Chris  had  the  gift  of  vivid  language,  and,  deliberately  as 
he  had  ever  done  anything  in  his  life,  he  laid  himself  out 
to  use  it  that  day.  His  companion  saw  visions  and  dreamed 


i66  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

dreams.  She  had  almost  forgotten  the  main  thing  she 
•wanted  to  say,  when  the  magistrate's  house  came  in  sight. 
Then  she  spoke  hurriedly. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "one  thing  quickly  before  I  forget.  When 
you  call,  please  don't  speak  of  the  Sunday  morning  at 
Three  Springs.  Not  of  Nanea,  I  mean.  Hugh  would  hate 
my  having  been  there.  He  thinks  all  that  sort  of  thing 
rubbish." 

Chris  glanced  understandingly  at  her.  "I  won't,"  he  said. 
"It  shall  be  our  secret.  You  can  depend  on  me.  And  the 
Hardcastles  of  course  don't  know." 

Their  eyes  met  again  as  he  promised.  It  is  amazing  how 
little  things  like  that  matter  in  life. 

She  told  Hugh  that  she  had  met  him,  and  Chris  called 
next  day.  She  came  in  from  the  garden  in  a  simple  linen 
dress  and  a  sun-bonnet  to  find  him  sitting  with  Hugh  and 
having  a  drink  before  dinner.  He  was  very  much  at  his 
ease  with  him  and  with  everything,  and  talked  easily  and 
lightly  on  any  subject  that  came  up.  He  drew  Hugh  out, 
and  when  he  was  gone,  Hugh  said  that  he  liked  him  and 
that  they  must  ask  him  and  the  Hardcastles  to  dinner. 

That  event  came  off  a  week  later,  and  meantime  they  had 
met  outside  of  the  church  on  the  Sunday.  To  even  the  party, 
they  asked  Mr.  Gressly,  the  clergyman,  and  his  wife,  and  a 
Miss  Evans,  a  school-teacher  who  was  staying  with  them. 
Miss  Evans  was  fair  and  florid,  and  Cecil  was  aware  that 
she  made  a  good  contrast  to  herself.  (Neither  of  the  two 
married  ladies  counted.)  So  she  put  on  a  shimmering  tis- 
sue of  gold,  and  wore  a  red  rose  at  her  breast.  Hugh  came 
in  from  his  dressing-room  to  have  his  tie  completed  satis- 
factorily, and  when  she  had  done,  stepped  back  to  admire 
her.  "My  darling,"  he  said,  "you  look  lovely.  Oh  what  a 
witch  you  are,  Cecily!  It  is  too  good  to  be  true  that  you 
should  be  mine." 

"Hughlets,"  she  laughed  reprovingly,  "you  talk  as  if  I 
were  a  part  of  your  property." 

"You're  my  wife,"  he  said  smiling  and  uncomprehending. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  167 

"Isn't  that  property  ?"  She  kissed  him,  but  refused  to  allow 
him  to  touch  her.  He  would  spoil  her  hair,  she  said. 

The  Gresslys  came  first,  and  Cecil  was  very  gracious  to 
Miss  Evans.  They  were  talking  together  when  Hugh  heard 
the  Hardcastles'  motor  and  went  out  to  greet  them.  Cecil 
did  not  at  once  move,  but,  with  her  eyes  on  her  guests  in 
the  drawing-room,  it  seemed  to  her  almost  as  if  she  could 
see  the  half -darkened  stoep.  There  was  a  sound  of  conver- 
sational greetings,  a  step  or  two,  and  then  they  came  in. 
She  would  not  look  at  him  as  she  shook  hands  with  the 
magistrate  and  his  wife,  but  when  she  did  she  was  bold. 
To  her  it  seemed  that  he  did  not  attempt  to  hide  his  admi- 
ration. She  led  the  way  gaily  to  dinner. 

They  played  a  rubber  or  two  of  bridge  afterwards,  and 
then,  the  game  palling  on  them  all,  went  out  to  the  stoep. 
The  night  was  utterly  still.  The  stars  sparkled  above  them 
as  they  only  can  over  the  veld  or  the  desert.  Chris  put  it 
into  words.  "It's  worth  coming  to  South  Africa,"  he  said, 
"if  only  to  see  the  stars  here." 

"So  many  great  worlds,"  said  Mr.  Gressly  sententiously. 

"So  all  the  books  say,"  said  Cecil.  "It  seems  to  spoil 
them  somehow." 

"Do  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Sinclair?  Surely  the  fact  ought 
only  to  deepen  our  reverence  for  the  Creator.  I  have  been 
told  that  if  you  reduced  the  solar  system  to  about  the  scale 
of  this  garden,  the  nearest  star  would  be  thirty  miles  or  so 
away.  Approximately  four  light  years.  Yet  the  Milky 
Way  is  roughly  300,000  light  years  across.  And  you  can 
even  pierce  with  a  telescope  through  the  vast  hosts  of  the 
encircling  universe  to  the  utter  blackness  of  space  beyond." 

Cecil  sighed  half  audibly.  Chris  moved  abruptly.  Hugh 
reached  for  his  whisky  and  soda.  Then  Cecil  rose  to  her 
duties  as  hostess  and  made  a  great  effort  to  carry  on  the 
conversation.  "Really,"  she  said.  "But  what  is  a  light 
year,  Vicar?  I'm  afraid  I'm  very  ignorant." 

Mr.  Gressly  cleared  his  throat,  but  Chris  saved  the  party 
another  lecture.  "Imagine  yourself  travelling  on  a  sun- 


i68  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

beam,  Mrs.  Sinclair,"  he  said  lightly.  "It  would  be  more 
fun  than  a  Ford.  The  sun's  the  terminus  and  off  you  go. 
Eight  minutes  to  the  Earth,  eight  and  a  half  to  the  Moon, 
four  hours  to  old  Daddy  Neptune  on  the  edge  of  our  little 
lot,  four  years  to  the  first  star,  and  a  couple  of  hundred 
thousand  to  the  Milky  Way." 

Hugh  laughed.    "Want  to  start,  my  darling  ?"  he  queried. 

"The  mind  cannot  comprehend  such  distances,"  said 
Gressly  as  heavily  as  ever.  "But  it  is  wonderful  that  we 
should  be  the  centre  of  interest,  so  to  speak,  in  such  a 
universe." 

"Don't  you  think  any  other  stars  are  inhabited,  Vicar?'' 
asked  Miss  Evans  deferentially. 

"I  believe  the  general  conclusion  of  scientific  men,  Miss 
Evans,"  said  the  clergyman,  "is  that  no  other  planet  could 
possibly  support  human  life.  As  the  stars  are  largely  in  a 
gaseous  state,  they  are,  of  course,  out  of  the  question." 

Chris  sat  up  sharply  in  his  chair,  and  in  a  moment  the 
slight  incident  that  alone  makes  the  conversation  worth  re- 
cording came  about.  Cecil,  sitting  next  him,  was  suddenly 
and  instinctively  conscious  that  he  was  about  to  break  out 
into  a  vehement  argument,  and  equally  instinctively  she  did 
not  wish  him  to  do  so.  Under  cover  of  the  darkness,  she 
put  her  hand  on  his  knee  for  a  second.  That  was  all. 

When  the  time  came  for  her  guests  to  go,  Hugh  went  on 
with  a  lantern  to  the  cars.  Chris  was  the  last  to  leave.  He 
lingered  a  second  on  the  stoep.  "Thank  you  for  stopping 
me,"  he  said,  his  eyes  seeking  those  of  his  hostess. 

"Why?"  she  said. 

"In  another  minute,  I  should  have  plunged  into  the  sub- 
ject, dogmatised  just  as  much  as  he  did,  and  generally  said 
too  much.  I  nearly  always  do.  But  it's  not  too  much  if  I 
just  say  'thank  you,'  is  it?" 

She  made  no  direct  reply.  "Come  again  soon,"  she  said 
softly. 

"May  I?"  he  said,  still  lingering.  "I  should  love  to;  and 
are  you  likely  to  be  coming  to  Kokstad?" 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  169 

"Saturday,"  she  said,  as  if  it  were  natural  for  her  to  do 
so.  "With  Hugh.  We  leave  the  car  at  the  Royal." 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  peering  at  her  in  the  half  dark. 
"I  must  go,"  he  said,  "good-night.  But  it  is  very  hard ;  you 
are  looking  so  absolutely  lovely  to-night."  And  he  turned 
and  went. 

Cecil  went  indoors  feeling  that  she  walked  on  air,  like  a 
girl.  There  was  no  room  in  her  mind  for  another  thought. 
He  had  admired  her ;  he  had  said  so ;  he  and  she  had  had 
just  a  little  touch  of  understanding  across  the  gulf  of  mere 
friendship.  The  world  was  very  good.  She  was  gay  with 
Hugh,  quite  genuinely  and  innocently  gay.  "It  went  off 
well,"  she  said. 

He  made  some  reply  and  went  to  get  whisky  for  a  last 
drink.  "Yes,"  he  said,  returning,  "I  think  it  did.  Gressly 
is  a  bit  of  a  fool,  though.  Jove!  the  way  Ashurst  rolled 
out  those  figures.  He  livened  the  old  parson  up.  Can't 
think  how  any  fellow  remembers  so  much.  I  never  can." 

Cecil  laughed.  "You  can't,"  she  said,  "you  dear  old  thing, 
and  you  had  better  not  try.  Good-night.  I'm  tired.  If  I'm 
asleep,  don't  wake  we." 

When  he  at  last  came  in,  she  was  not  asleep.  But  she 
pretended  to  be.  Hugh  got  into  his  bed  and  blew  out  the 
candle.  He  shortly  snored.  Cecil  stared  out  into  the  dark- 
ness and  was  very  happy. 

Christopher  called  again.  They  met  him  (by  chance,  he 
said)  at  the  Royal  on  Saturday.  He  and  Hardcastle  de- 
parted to  Zululand  on  a  visit  the  next  week,  and  returned 
together  the  week  after.  He  called  again  at  once,  and  at 
tea,  the  subject  of  an  expedition  to  Basutoland  was  really 
canvassed.  "I  intend  to  go  anyway,"  said  Chris  to  Hugh, 
"but  it  would  be  most  awfully  jolly  if  we  could  make  up  a 
party — you  and  Mrs.  Sinclair,  Pamela  and  I — who  else?" 

"Gwen  and  Daddy,"  said  Cecil. 

"Yes;  that's  six.    Enough,  isn't  it?" 

"Well,"  said  Hugh,  "it's  enough  from  this  side  perhaps, 
but  I  suggest  that  we  ride  to  Qacha's  Nek  and  visit  the  Mai- 


170  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

lory's  for  a  night.  Mallory  is  an  awfully  good  sort  who 
was  with  me  in  Rhodesia,  and  he's  in  the  Basutoland  Po- 
lice Service  now,  Inspector  I  think.  At  any  rate  he  knows 
the  Border  better  than  most  people,  and  if  we  could  per- 
suade him  and  his  wife  to  come  along  with  us,  it  would 
be  a  great  score.  I've  been  in  Basutoland  with  an  official 
and  without,  and  there's  no  doubt  as  to  which  is  the  best 
way  to  do  it !  Of  course,  if  Mallory  wishes,  he  can  smooth 
over  everything  for  us,  and  in  any  case,  I  might  ask  him  for 
a  police-guide  and  we  could  get  some  camp  stuff  up  there. 
How  long  could  you  be  away,  darling?"  he  added,  turning 
to  Cecil. 

"Oh  I  don't  know,"  exclaimed  Cecil,  her  eyes  sparkling, 
"but  let's  be  away  at  least  a  fortnight.  Oh,  Hugh,  it  will 
be  perfect!  Now  don't  let  us  delay  a  day.  Let's  write  at 
once  to  all  the  people  concerned  and  fix  dates." 

"My  darling,  we  must  take  a  little  while  to  think  about 
it." 

"Hugh,  we  don't  need  to  take  an  hour.  Do  we,  Mr. 
Ashurst?  Now  let's  think.  I  propose  that  we  send  the 
horses  and  so  on,  to  Matatiele,  and  we  motor  from  here 
and  pick  them  up  the  day  before  we  wish  to  start.  We'll 
allow  a  fortnight  for  the  coast  people  to  get  their  stuff  up, 
oh  and  we'd  leave  Matatiele  on  a  Saturday  and  spend  the 
week-end  at  the  Nek.  We  can  camp  out  there.  Very  well 
then,  to-day  is  Wednesday ;  Saturday  fortnight  we  leave  for 
Matatiele."  She  got  up  and  ran  across  to  Hugh.  "Say 
'Yes,' "  she  cried.  "Not  another  word — just  'yes.'  No, 
nothing  else.  Hugh,  I  won't  let  you  speak.  Just  say 
'Yes.' " 

"Yes,"  said  Hugh. 

"Hurrah !"  shouted  Cecil.  "Good-bye,  Mr.  Ashurst— I'm 
off  to  write  to  Gwen.  I  shall  invite  them  here  for  a  day  or 
two  before  the  Saturday,  Hugh."  And  she  disappeared. 

Hugh  sighed,  and  looked  comically  at  Chris.  "Have  some 
more  tea  ?"  he  said,  and  then,  pouring  out  a  cup :  "It's  all 
very  well,  but  you  can't  start  an  excursion  of  this  sort  at  a 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  171 

moment's  notice.  We've  got  to  think  about  the  packs  first, 
and  have  them  all  overhauled.  And  the  horses.  There 
must  be  at  least  six  pack-horses  for  the  six  of  us,  though 
of  course  we  can  get  most  of  the  food  up  there  from  the 
natives,  or  at  any  rate,  if  Mallory  comes  we  can.  Well, 
each  farm  of  the  three  can  find  a  couple  I  suppose.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  should  think  each  better  run  his  own  outfit 
as  far  as  tents  and  blankets  and  so  on  are  concerned.  El- 
dred  has  everything  I  know,  but  I  doubt  Urfurd.  Still  I've 
a  couple  of  tents.  I  don't  know  whether  Three  Springs  has 
much  in  the  way  of  pack-horses  though." 

"Leave  that  to  me,"  said  Chris.  "Between  us,  we'll  raise 
four  down  there,  and  bring  our  four  selves.  If  we're  short, 
Hardcastle  would  lend  me  a  pack  or  even  two.  He  has 
some  new  Coryndons.  That  all  seems  to  me  plain  sailing. 
But  what's  the  route  at  the  top  ?" 

Hugh,  who  loved  this  sort  of  thing,  considered.  "Well," 
he  said,  "we  might  make  either  for  the  Malutsinyane  Falls 
or  for  Mont  aux  Sources.  The  first  means  a  ride  across 
the  country ;  the  second  up  the  Border." 

"Which  is  better  ?"  queried  Chris. 

"Oh  it's  a  toss  up.  Still  I  think  the  Border  wins.  We 
should  have  to  cross  some  pretty  bleak  country,  but  the 
views  over  Natal  are  magnificent.  Only  Mont  aux  Sources 
itself  is  much  too  far  for  the  ladies." 

Cecil,  bursting  in,  her  letter  in  her  land,  caught  the  last 
words. 

"Rubbish,  Hugh,"  she  said.  "It  must  be  Mont  aux 
Sources;  I'm  dying  to  get  there,  and  of  course  we  can  do 
it." 

"My  darling,"  he  protested,  "you  haven't  an  idea  of  the 
distance.  Look  here,  Qacha's  Nek  to  Ramatseliso's,  one 
day;  to  Sehlabathebe's  (that's  the  last  store)  another  day. 
We  might  camp  at  the  Police  Camp  there.  Well,  then  it 
would  be  two  nights  out  at  least,  if  ladies  are  with  us,  be- 
fore we  can  get  to  Mokhotlong  Camp.  Hardly  any  women 
have  been  there.  There's  no  road  you  know,  in  the  proper 


172  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

sense  of  the  word,  only  tiny  paths,  very  rough  and  often 
very  steep.  We  should  have  to  rest  there  the  rest  of  the 
week  at  least.  Then,  going  on,  we  might  make  the  head  of 
the  Sinku  in  a  day,  but  I  doubt  it; — no,  we  must  take  the 
other  road,  by  the  Khubelu,  it's  better.  Camp  one  night  on 
the  river,  and  the  next  at  the  top,  right  up  on  the  Border, 
near  Giant's  Castle.  The  next  night  we  could  be  at  the 
Eagle's  Nest." 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Cecil  eagerly. 

"A  little  cave  right  up  on  Mont  aux  Sources,  facing  the 
Buttress.  If  it's  clear,  the  view  from  the  top  is  superb.  But 
that's  ten  hard  days  from  the  Nek — my  darling,  it's  absurd. 
You've  got  to  get  back!" 

"Oh  Hugh,  it  isn't.    Mr.  Ashurst,  do  say  we  can  do  it !" 

Christopher  smiled  ruefully.  "I  fear,"  he  said,  "that  I 
must  really  agree  with  Mr.  Sinclair,  unless — couldn't  we 
send  the  ladies  home  by  train  from  there?" 

Sinclair  laughed.  "A  day  down  to  Witze's  Hoek,"  he 
said.  "Possibly  they  could  get  a  car  to  the  railway  from 
there,  but  I  don't  know." 

"Well,  there  you  are !"  cried  Cecil  triumphantly. 

Hugh  sucked  at  his  pipe.  "Look  here,"  he  said,  "I've 
really  got  a  better  idea  than  that.  Honestly,  darling,  that 
is  a  little  too  much.  You'd  be  fagged  out,  and  wouldn't 
half  enjoy  it.  But  if  we  were  to  trek  from  the  Nek  to 
Ramatseliso's,  then  to  Moshebi's,  and  then  to  the  Tselike 
almost  on  the  Border,  that  would  be  but  three  nice  days. 
Then  set  up  a  week's  camp  on  the  Tselike.  From  there  we 
could  make  excursions  over  the  Border  to  Bushman's  Nek 
and  see  the  Bushman  Caves,  and  the  other  way,  into  Basuto- 
land.  There's  fishing,  usually  decent  bird  snooting  on  the 
marshes,  and  I  know  a  good  place  for  a  camp.  By  the 
Falls  of  the  Tselike.  There's  a  great  pool  there  into  which 
the  river  falls." 

He  was  so  occupied  with  his  own  plans  that  he  did  not 
notice  the  silence  that  had  suddenly  fallen  on  the  others. 
The  colour  faded  from  Cecil's  face.  Chris  was  staring  at 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  173 

the  speaker.  Even  he  was  startled.  "The  Pool,  and  the 
Falls  above  the  Nek  of  the  Caves,"  he  muttered.  "My 
God!" 

"What's  that?"  said  Hugh.  "Yes,  a  rattling  deep  pool, 
with  an  open  bit  of  flat  ground  below  it  that's  just  the  place 
for  a  camp.  Really,  you  know,  I  don't  think  we  could  do 
better  than  that." 

"No,  no,"  cried  Cecil  hysterically.  "Not  there,  Hugh. 
I  want  to  go  to  Mont  aux  Sources.  I  don't  care  a  bit  about 
the  other." 

Hugh  looked  a  little  annoyed.  "Don't  be  absurd,  Cecil," 
he  said,  really  sharply  for  him.  "I'm  certain  the  other's 
too  far,  and  we  couldn't  beat  this.  If  you  can't  see  sense, 
I  shall  call  the  whole  thing  off.  You  don't  in  the  least  know 
what  trekking  up  there  is  like.  Possibly  Mr.  Ashurst  here 
could  go  on,  if  Mallory  took  the  opportunity  to  do  a  Border 
patrol  in  company,  but  I  should  not  allow  you  to  go.  The 
Tselike  will  give  us  just  what  we  want." 

Cecil  sat  curled  up  in  her  big  chair  the  picture  of  misery. 
She  had  hard  work  not  to  cry.  "Perhaps  we'd  better  not 
go,"  she  said  tearfully. 

Chris  glanced  from  one  to  the  other.  It  was  plain  to  him 
that  he  ought  to  go,  but  how  could  he  leave  her  without  a 
word?  So  he  pretended  not  to  notice  this  sudden  clouding 
of  the  plans,  and  schemed  at  a  venture  for  a  minute  with  her 
alone. 

"Have  you  a  map,  Sinclair?"  he  asked.  "I'd  love  to  see 
the  route." 

Hugh  got  up.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "in  my  office.  I'll  get  it. 
Don't  you  come;  the  place  is  in  a  confounded  muddle." 
And  he  stepped  out  on  to  the  stoep  and  crossed  the  yard  in 
the  sun  to  his  rondhavel  some  hundred  yards  away. 

Cecil  was  up  in  an  instant.  "We  can't  go,"  she  cried  to 
Christopher.  "Oh  we  can't,  we  can't!  I  feel  as  if  some 
horror  were  waiting  for  us  there." 

Chris  stood  up  too  and  spoke  rapidly.  "See,"  he  said,  "I 
must  speak  to  you  about  it.  Tell  me  how.  Couldn't  I  meet 


174  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

you  somewhere?  Motor  into  Kokstad  to-morrow— can't 
you?" 

"Oh  I  don't  know,"  said  Cecil,  on  the  verge  of  tears. 
"Anyone  might  see  us." 

Christopher  caught  her  hand  and  held  it  firmly  in  his 
own.  She  did  not  attempt  to  stop  him,  but  even  in  her 
misery,  her  heart  beat  harcl.  "We  must  risk  something," 
he  said.  "Shall  I  come  here  ?  I  can  make  an  excuse." 

"Well, — to-morrow — say  at  three.  Ride  up  over  the  veld. 
You  know  the  little  gate  at  the  edge  of  the  acacia  spinney — 
the  gate  that  looks  towards  the  Malutis  ?  I'll  be  there,  if  I 
can.  Let  go;  Hugh's  coming." 

Chris  pressed  her  hand  and  dropped  it.  "Don't  fear, 
little  woman,"  he  said.  "It  will  be  all  right.  I'll  be  there." 

There  was  no  time  for  more.  He  pulled  his  cigarette  case 
out  quickly,  selected  a  cigarette  and  handed  it  rapidly  to  her. 
When  Hugh  came  in,  they  were  standing  naturally  and  he 
was  holding  a  match  to  it. 

"Now  I  can  show  you,"  said  Hugh,  his  usual  good 
humour  restored  again.  "This  is  the  Government  survey, 
an  excellent  piece  of  work."  And  he  began  to  unfold  it. 
Cecil  slipped  quietly  out. 

Outside  the  room  she  hesitated.  Then,  her  mind  made 
up,  she  reached  her  sunbonnet  down  from  the  hook  on 
which  it  hung  in  the  hall,  and  ran  out  quickly  to  the  garden. 
There,  among  the  flowers  and  trees,  in  the  bright  fresh  sun, 
she  drew  in  deep  breaths  of  the  good  air.  Hardly  knowing 
what  she  did,  she  wandered  on,  through  the  rose  garden, 
out  by  the  little  path  that  skirts  the  wattles,  and  down  to  the 
very  gate  of  which  she  had  spoken  to  Christopher.  It  was 
perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  house  and  completely 
hidden  from  it.  The  spinney  of  acacias  grew  thickly  there 
and  made  a  barrier  through  which  it  was  not  easy  to  pass 
except  by  this  little  path.  It  ended  in  a  gate,  and  from  the 
gate  the  farm  veld  stretched  down  to  a  dam  and  a  little 
stream  and  rose  again  to  a  new  plantation  half  a  mile  away. 
Far  off,  on  the  sky  line,  ran  the  great  range  of  the  Drakens- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  175 

berg,  and  although  she  did  not  realise  it,  she  could  actually 
see  Ramatseliso's  Pass  from  there.  Sometimes  the  moun- 
tains seemed  very  near;  to-day  they  looked  far  and  were 
veiled  in  a  heat-mist.  She  leaned  on  the  gate  and  gazed 
at  them.  She  was  very  still.  Little  birds  moved  in  the  trees 
behind  her,  and  a  male  ring-dove  broke  out  into  his  wooing 
cry  just  above  her  head. 

She  was  much  calmer  now,  but  her  eyes  were  big  and 
troubled.  A  thousand  thoughts  stirred  in  her  and  she 
could  get  no  order  into  them.  Chris  stood  out  most  promi- 
nently, the  Chris  she  was  to  meet  here  to-morrow,  the 
Chris  who  seemed  to  have  broken  a  barrier  down  at  last 
when  he  had  seized  her  hand.  But  she  did  not  argue  from 
that.  She  refused  to  consider  what  might  follow.  That 
she  loved  him,  she  did  not  now  attempt  to  hide  from  herself, 
nor  yet  that  she  loved  him  as  she  had  not  known  before 
what  it  was  to  love.  It  did  not  seem  to  her  to  matter  what 
Chris  did  or  said.  Quite  possibly  he  did  not  love  her;  she 
could  not  in  the  least  believe  that  he  loved  her  as  she  loved 
him.  It  seemed  to  her  that  he  could  not — that  no  one  could 
ever  have  loved  as  she  loved.  And  she  could  not  argue  with 
her  love.  It  was  too  immense,  too  overmastering.  She 
stroked  the  hard  rough  wood  of  the  gate  like  a  dumb  crea- 
ture, glad  that  it  was  so  real  and  commonplace.  Yet  even 
that  bar  of  wood  was  no  longer  commonplace.  She  stooped 
her  lips  and  actually  kissed  it. 

The  road  to  Kokstad  does  not  pass  within  sight  of  that 
gate.  A  rise  in  the  ground  hides  it,  and  Christopher,  riding 
along  thoughtfully,  was  not  aware  exactly  of  its  position. 
On  the  edge  of  the  farm,  he  did  indeed  rein  up  a  minute 
and  glance  around.  He  reckoned  that  his  way  to-morrow 
must  branch  off  here  across  the  veld.  He  began  to  consider 
the  situation.  If  he  met  the  husband  as  he  came  to  the 
rendezvous,  what  should  he  say?  Oh,  well,  he  must  talk 
to  Hardcastle  to-night  about  the  pack-saddles,  and  that 
would  be  an  excuse.  But  when  he  came  to  Cecil,  what 
should  he  say? 


176  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

He  turned  the  whole  thing  over  and  over  in  his  mind. 
To  him,  one  thing  seemed  abundantly  clear.  If  Nanea's 
words — or  Haketsebe's,  whoever  she  might  be — meant  any- 
thing, they  meant  that  Fate  lay  ahead  of  them  all.  One 
cannot  fight  against  Fate.  Chris  was  conscious  that  he  did 
not  even  want  to  do  so.  He  was  definitely  elated  by  the 
whole  turn  of  events.  It  had  been  a  chance,  his  coming  to 
Africa,  and  now,  in  a  few  weeks,  all  this  had  developed.  It 
seemed  to  him  incredible  that  he  had  not  even  known  that 
Cecil  existed.  Cecil.  Her  image  filled  his  thoughts.  Did 
she  care?  That  alone  mattered.  But  did  he  dare  put  it  to 
the  test?  And  if  so  ...  ? 

A  hundred  miles  away  and  more,  Pamela  was  sitting  in 
the  lounge  reading.  She  was  curled  up  in  a  big  chair  full 
of  cushions,  a  reading  stand  beside  her  holding  a  big  book 
on  the  Native  Races  of  South  Africa,  it's  little  reading  table 
carrying  a  silver  box  of  cigarettes  and  a  small  hand  bell. 
Suddenly  she  pushed  the  arm  holding  the  book  away  from 
her,  and  stared  out  disinterestedly  at  the  room.  Then  she 
had  an  idea,  and  her  face  lit  up.  "How  stupid  of  me,"  she 
said.  She  reached  out  and  rang  the  bell. 

In  a  minute  or  so,  the  door  opened  and  Auntie  Tot  came 
in.  Her  little  beady  eyes  sparkled  as  she  saw  her  mistress. 
"Missus  ring?"  she  said  questioningly. 

Pamela  transferred  her  gaze  to  the  old  servant,  and  she 
studied  her  quietly  for  a  minute  without  speaking.  Then: 
"Come  here,  Auntie  Tot,"  she  said;  "I  want  to  talk  to 
you." 

The  old  woman  came  towards  her.  "Sit  there,"  said 
Pamela,  pointing  to  the  heavy  kaross  at  her  feet.  The 
woman  squatted  down  native  fashion,  watching  her.  Again 
Pamela  was  silent  for  a  while.  She  knew  it  does  not  do  to 
ask  a  native  the  question  direct.  Then  she  said:  "Auntie 
Tot,  tell  me  about  yourself." 

The  native  woman  grinned.     "Missus  knows,"  she  said. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  177 

"Missus  knows  I've  lived  most  all  my  life  with  baas  Ur- 
furd." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Pamela  impatiently,  "but  you  were  not 
born  here.  What  do  you  remember  first?" 

"Ow,  missus,"  replied  the  old  creature  before  her  comi- 
cally, ''that  very  very  long  time  ago.  Auntie  Tot  wants  to 
forget  it.  She  had  bad  time  then." 

"Well,  but  tell  me.  Didn't  you  come  from  Basuto- 
land?" 

"Eh,  missus,  up  behind  Matatiele,  no,  farther,  up  behind 
Underberg.  My  people  lived  on  the  Malutis  up  there.  But 
I  remember  most  nothing  about  it.  I  guess  I  just  woke  up 
one  night,  and  that  very  night  I  say  'Good-bye'  to  Malutis. 
I  never  been  there  again." 

"When  the  Griquas  captured  you?"  queried  Pamela. 

"Yes,  missus.  I  was  asleep  with  my  people  in  a  very 
small  place,  very  dark,  not  at  all  nice,  missus,  just  a  hole 
in  the  earth,  I  think.  Suddenly  bang!  bang! — gun  go  off. 
My  father — I  think  he  was  my  father — rush  outside.  Bang ! 
bang!  again.  My  mother,  she  clutch  hold  of  me,  all  shak- 
ing. Then  come  lights,  and  men  dressed  in  clothes,  not  like 
my  people  at  all.  They  pull  me  out  and  mother  with  me, 
holding  me  all  the  while.  Then  suddenly  she  scream  and 
leave  go.  They  push  a  knife  into  her,  I  think ;  in  the  morning 
I  was  all  bloody.  One  man,  he  pick  me  up  by  the  arm  and 
I  try  to  bite  him.  He  smack  me  on  head,  and  that  all  I 
know." 

"Yes,"  said  Pamela,  "and  then?" 

"I  go  to  that  man's  place,  and  I  play  there  and  forget  my 
people.  I  grow  a  big  girl,  and  then  I  have  to  work.  Little 
to  eat,  little  to  wear,  much  hard  work — that  place  no  good, 
missus.  Last,  one  day,  I  drop  pot  full  of  water,  and  my 
master  he  very  angry.  He  beat  me  something  awful.  (The 
old  woman  shuddered,  but  rather  comically,  so  that  Pamela 
could  not  help  laughing  inwardly.  But  she  knew  at  this 
point  in  the  story,  it  did  not  do  to  laugh.)  He  tie  me  to 


178  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

waggon-wheel,  and  cut  me  to  bits  with  his  sjambok.  Missus 
knows." 

"Show  me  again,"  said  Pamela. 

The  old  woman  unfastened  a  button  of  her  loose  cotton 
dress  and  slipped  it  from  her  shoulders,  half  turning  round 
as  she  did  so.  Her  bare  back  still  carried  the  weals  of  a 
cruel  flogging,  and  Pamela  contemplated  them  in  silence. 
"How  old  were  you  then  ?"  she  asked  at  last. 

Auntie  Tot  shrugged  her  wrinkled  shoulders  and  pulled 
the  dress  on  again.  "How  I  know,  missus?"  she  said.  "Big 
girl  though — breasts  quite  big  then." 

"Well?"  said  Pamela. 

"That  night  I  run  away — days  and  days  I  run.  I  nearly 
die.  Sometimes  I  steal  mealies,  and  once  I  meet  Basuto  on 
the  road  who  feed  me  for  a  week.  But  I  not  like  their  looks. 
I  run  away  again,  and  I  think  I  die.  Baas  Urfurd  he  find 
me  in  the  forest.  He  take  me  up.  He  have  waggons  then 
and  trek,  and  I  stay  with  him.  Then  we  come  here.  And 
I  live  here  ever  after." 

Pamela  pondered.  She  knew  the  latter  part  of  the  tale 
well  enough — how  her  father  had  built  the  house  and  gone 
away,  and  after  some  years  had  come  back  with  her,  a  little 
thing,  not  much  more  than  a  baby.  Tot  had  mothered  her 
ever  since,  and  become  'Auntie/  Of  her  mother,  she  knew 
nothing,  or  practically  nothing.  Her  father  would  not 
speak  of  her.  There  was  some  tragedy,  she  knew,  but  what 
she  could  not  guess,  except  that  her  mother  had  died  in 
child-birth. 

She  roused  herself.  "Now,  Auntie,"  she  said.  "I  want 
you  to  think  hard."  She  paused.  It  would  not  do  to  sug- 
gest too  much.  "What  was  your  father  like?" 

"Him  little  man,  naked,  I  think.  Which  man,  my  father, 
I  don't  know,  but  I  saw  many  dead  men  that  time,  all  little, 
all  naked." 

"A  Bushman,  do  you  think?" 

"Frhaps,"  said  Auntie  Tot  half-heartedly.  She  was  not 
over  proud  of  her  relations. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  179 

"But  you're  not — or  not  altogether,"  said  Pamela,  half 
to  herself.  "Well,  anyway,  do  you  remember  living  in  a 
cave  at  all  ?" 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head. 

"Nothing  about  the  country  up  there  on  the  Malutis?" 

She  shook  her  head  again.  Then  she  appeared  about  to 
speak,  and  thought  better  of  it. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Pamela,  authoritatively. 

"Nothing,  missus,"  said  Auntie  Tot. 

"Tot,"  said  Pamela  sternly,  "tell  me.  You  must.  Do 
you  want  me  to  be  angry?" 

The  old  woman  loved  Pamela,  but  she  feared  her.  The 
girl  could  be  furious,  savage,  as  she  well  knew.  She  made 
a  gesture  hopelessly,  and  then  spoke. 

"Missus  not  be  angry,"  she  said.  "All  I  remember  is 
foolish  words  of  the  people  at  that  damn  Griqua's  place." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Pamela,  eagerly,  "go  on." 

"It  one  time  when  we  go  far  to  cut  rushes  in  the  river. 
Umzimkulu,  they  call  him.  Well,  one  man  he  say  ghosts 
up  there,  up  the  valley  in  the  mountains,  missus  understand. 
He  say,  little  ghosts,  that  eat  men's  livers  when  they  sleep. 
'Nother  ghost  like  man  but  with  dog's  head;  he  dig  up 
graves  and  eat  dead  corpses.  He  live  high  up,  near  big 
pool,  where  river  falls  from  great  cliff.  Bad  place  that. 
Then  we  cut  more  mealies.  Bad  place  that,  missus." 

Pamela  smiled.  "Thank  you,  Auntie  Tot,"  she  said. 
"That's  all.  You  can  go  now."  And  she  leant  back  wearily. 


CHAPTER  V 

/^CHRISTOPHER  was  sitting  writing — or  trying  to  write 
V_>  — in  the  Hafdcastles'  drawing-room  next  morning 
when  he  received  his  first  letter  from  Cecil.  It  had  been 
written  as  a  result  of  her  meditations  the  evening  before 
at  the  little  gate  hastily  chosen  as  a  rendezvous,  and  was 
rather  a  pathetic  example  of  her  simple-mindedness  in  those 
days.  The  girl  was  as  it  were  trying  to  beat  off  the  relent- 
less march  of  her  fate  with  the  blows  of  her  little  hands. 
She  would  have  put  up  a  better  fight  in  the  end  if  she  had 
allowed  it  to  come  on,  and  had  reserved  all  her  powers  for 
the  day  of  shock.  She  would  have  done  better  to  have  met 
Christopher  as  arranged,  but  now  he  unfolded  the  scrap  of 
paper  a  native  messenger  had  brought  and  read  the  lines 
which  she  had  hastily  scrawled. 

"Don't  come  this  afternoon  (it  ran).     I  daren't  face  it. 
Trek  probably  off.    Forgive  me. — C.  S." 
"P.  S. — Please  burn  this  at  once." 

Chris  read  it  half  a  dozen  times,  striving  to  get  at  all  it  did 
not  say.  Holding  the  note,  he  sat  back  in  his  chair  and 
thought  hard  for  a  while.  Then  he  went  out,  told  the  boy 
there  was  no  answer,  and  sent  him  away.  That  done,  he 
came  back,  wrote  at  length  to  Pamela  detailing  the  suggested 
plans,  and  fired  off  a  letter  to  Jimmy  Eldred  also,  with  a 
post-script  for  Gwen  calculated  to  engage  that  young  lady 
eagerly  in  the  proposed  adventure.  These  letters  caught  the 
morning's  post.  At  lunch  he  renewed  talk  about  pack- 
saddles,  and  in  the  afternoon  went  off  with  the  magistrate 
to  the  Government  stores  to  see  what  could  be  borrowed. 
By  the  evening  the  trek  was  practically  settled  and  arranged 

180 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  181 

so  far  as  Chris  was  concerned.  He  had  even  wired  to  Dur- 
ban for  photographic  plates  and  more  ammunition. 

Meantime,  up  at  Springfontein,  things  did  not  go  easily. 
Cecil  had  suddenly  thrown  her  weight  against  the  plan,  and 
Hugh,  who  could  of  course  see  no  reason  for  this  change 
of  front,  was  not  unjustly  annoyed.  The  evening  before, 
and  Chris  gone,  he  had  soon  worked  himself  into  a  mood  in 
which  difficulties  and  possible  dangers  to  the  women  bulked 
large  in  his  eyes,  but  now,  not  unnaturally,  the  male  in  him 
was  stirred  on  the  other  side.  It  was  all:  "But  why,  my 
darling?"  or:  "Ashurst  has  probably  made  most  of  his  ar- 
rangements" ;  and  Cecil  could  hardly  say,  what  she  believed, 
that  Chris  would  have  made  none  since  she  had  written  to 
him.  Husband  and  wife  came  nearly  to  an  open  quarrel, 
and  it  was  only  that  Hugh  saw  how  upset  Cecil  plainly 
though  inexplicably  was,  which  prevented  it.  They  there- 
fore decided  nothing,  which  was  precisely  what  the  astute 
Christopher  imagined  they  would  do.  His  arrangements 
made,  he  did  not  intend  to  lose  a  moment,  and  in  the  early 
afternoon  of  the  day  after  the  abandoned  meeting,  he  rode 
up  to  the  farm  to  see  how  things  were  progressing. 

It  was  a  hot  sultry  day.  Hugh  had  set  off  in  the  car  for 
Matatiele  <3h  farm  business,  and  Cecil,  with  a  headache,  had 
gone  to  lie  down  in  her  bedroom  after  lunch.  She  had  taken 
off  her  outer  clothes  and  slipped  on  a  loose  wrap,  but  she 
could  not  sleep.  At  last  she  rose  restlessly,  and  found  a 
book,  which  she  took  to  the  stoep,  just  outside  the  drawing- 
room  window,  to  read.  The  stoep  was  screened  by  the 
Japanese  honeysuckle,  and  she  made  herself  comfortable  in 
a  Bombay  chair.  Visitors  are  rare  at  an  out  of  the  way 
farm  in  East  Griqualand,  and  Cecil  did  not  fear  interrup- 
tion. She  tried  to  read,  but  could  not,  and  she  had  lost 
herself  in  a  day-dream  when  the  interview  which  she  had 
avoided  the  day  before  was  thrust  at  her  weakest  upon  her. 
Chris,  enquiring  at  the  back  of  the  farm  boys,  learned  that 
the  baas  had  gone  out  in  the  car  and  that  the  missus  was 
lying  down.  He  told  Blandina,  who  appeared,  not  to  waken 


i8a  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

her  mistress,  and  said  that  he  would  go  to  the  drawing- 
room  and  wait  for  tea.  Cecil,  then,  was  hardly  settled  when 
she  heard  a  step  in  the  room  behind  her.  She  jumped  up 
with  a  little  exclamation  and  her  book  slipped  to  the  ground. 
Facing  hastily  round,  she  saw  Chris  advancing  towards 
her. 

He  on  his  part  was  as  surprised  as  she,  but  what  he  saw 
simply  swept  him  off  his  feet.  There,  framed  in  the  door- 
way of  the  stoep  against  the  light,  was  the  girl  he  loved, 
gloriously  flushed,  her  thick  black  hair  in  beautiful  disarray, 
her  dress  a  light  silk  wrap  whose  wide  sleeves  fell  back  to 
reveal  her  bare  arms  and  through  which  the  flesh  of  her 
shoulders  and  neck  seemed  to  glow.  Scarcely  knowing 
what  he  did,  he  held  out  his  hands  and  took  an  eager  step 
towards  her,  his  lips  crying  her  name.  And  she,  suddenly 
aware  of  the  burden  of  the  last  four-and-twenty  hours  and 
of  all  the  pent-up  passion  of  the  weeks  past,  surrendered  to 
him  as  instinctively.  She  was  gathered  in  his  arms,  and  he 
was  pressing  passionate  kisses  on  her  face  and  hair,  as 
quickly  as  the  moon  can  sometimes  leap  from  the  heart  of 
a  black  cloud  and  flood  the  world  with  light. 

Then,  indeed,  neither  knew  how  long  they  stood  so. 
Realisation  came  first  to  Cecil.  She  struggled  in  his  arms 
and  escaped,  catching  her  wrap  to  her  breast  and  panting 
with  emotion.  "Oh  Chris,  Chris,  what  have  we  done !"  she 
cried,  and  burst  into  tears. 

Her  weeping  recovered  the  man  to  his  senses.  He  ad- 
vanced to  her  now  deliberately,  putting  his  arm  about  her 
neck,  pulling  her  head  down  on  his  shoulder,  and  clasping 
her  round  her  slight  childish  waist  that  felt  so  soft  to  his 
touch  beneath  her  thin  covering.  "My  dear,  dear  Cecily," 
he  whispered.  "What  have  we  done?  Why,  fulfilled  our 
fate,  that's  all.  Since  the  moment  I  saw  you  on  the  stoep 
of  the  Royal  I  have  known  that  we  were  made  for  each 
other.  At  first  I  hardly  knew  what  drew  me  to  you,  except 
just  that  I  was  drawn.  And  you  love  me,  darling,  darling 
Cecily,  don't  you  ?  Oh  I  know  you  do,  my  love,  my  queen. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  183 

Cecily,  if  life  held  no  more  for  me  than  this,  it  would  be 
enough.  I  have  longed  to  stroke  your  hair,  your  lovely 
hair,  darling,  and  longed  to  hold  you  in  my  arms  like  this. 
Cecily,  I  can't  hide  anything  from  you.  I  want  you  body 
and  soul.  I'm  on  fire  for  you,  my  love.  Oh  Cecily,  you 
won't  understand  perhaps,  but  I've  lived  only  for  this.  I've 
sought  this  blindly  all  my  days.  It  seems  to  me  now  that 
for  this,  for  you,  I've  been  restless,  a  wanderer ;  now,  now, 
thank  God,  I  have  found  you  at  last." 

Cecil  heard  his  broken  torrential  words  with  a  kind  of 
numbed  amazement.  She  made  no  further  attempt  to  stop 
his  caresses.  She  lifted  her  face  to  look  in  his  eyes  but 
once,  and  then  surrendered  with  a  little  sigh.  She  did  not 
speak.  Truth  to  tell,  she  could  not,  for  emotion  flooded 
her.  She  had  no  fear,  and  no  shame  at  all.  She  was  utterly 
content,  and  she  knew  that  she  had  never  been  content 
before.  For  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  perhaps,  she  literally  did 
not  think  of  the  reality  of  life  at  all. 

But  it  came,  the  terrible  awakening.  The  colour  sud- 
denly paled  from  her  face,  and  she  pushed  him  firmly  from 
her,  not  however  relinquishing  his  hand.  She  looked  round 
for  a  chair  and  pulled  it  towards  her,  sinking  into  it.  Chris 
sat  himself  at  her  feet,  studied  her  face  for  a  moment,  and 
then  hid  his  own  in  the  folds  of  the  wrap  on  her  knees. 

She  caressed  his  hair  for  a  moment  without  speaking, 
and  at  last,  when  she  broke  the  silence  which  had  fallen 
upon  them,  there  was  a  deep  note  in  her  voice  which  had 
never  been  there  before.  It  stirred  the  depths  of  his  heart. 
The  man  in  him  knew  well  enough  that  it  was  no  longer 
Cecil  the  girl,  but  the  woman  of  the  centuries  who  spoke. 
Yet  even  Chris  could  not  know  what  fifteen  short  minutes 
had  done  for  her. 

"Oh  Chris,"  she  said,  "why  did  you  not  come  before? 
Why  did  nothing  tell  me  you  were  on  the  road?  What 
have  I  done  that  I  should  be  trapped  like  this?  Dear,  I 
never  knew.  .  .  .  You  must  believe  me  when  I  say  that. 
I  was  so  young  and  no  one  told  me.  I  was  so  blind  that 


184  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

I  never  even  saw  all  that  I  might  have  seen.  But,  my 
darling,  it  was  not  my  fault.  Nor  was  it  yours  of  course. 
Whose  was  it  then,  I  wonder,  or  does  the  world  move 
utterly  by  chance?  But  oh,  oh  Chris,  Chris,  if  you  had  only 
come  before!" 

Chris  lifted  his  head.  "What  does  it  matter?"  he  de- 
manded fiercely.  "You  love  me.  You  don't  love  Hugh  at 
all,  you  know  you  don't.  You  can't  go  on  living  with  him, 
giving  yourself  to  him.  Cecil,  it  horrifies  me  to  think  of  it. 
You're  mine,  not  his.  Tell  me,  tell  me  honestly  at  once,  you 
don't  love  him,  do  you  ?" 

Their  positions  had  suddenly  reversed.  It  was  she  who 
was  cool,  she  who  was  now  even  tragically  calm,  and  he 
who  was  hurried  and  overwhelmed.  Her  hand  continued 
to  stroke  his  head,  and  when  she  spoke  it  was  with  serene 
deliberation.  "No,  Chris,"  she  said,  "I  do  not  love  Hugh 
at  all  as  I  love  you.  The  things  are  as  different  from  each 
other  as  the  light  of  the  sun  is  different  from  the  light  of 
the  stars.  But  Hugh  loves  me,  and  I  am  his  wife." 

"What  does  that  matter  ?"  burst  out  the  man  impetuously. 
"What  is  their  absurd  man-made  marriage  law  that  it 
should  separate  us?  You  say  yourself  that  you  did  not 
know  what  you  were  doing.  A  fig  for  their  commandments 
and  their  ridiculous  morality!  If  you  feel  a  tenth  of  what 
I  feel,  Cecil,  that  will  not  weigh  with  you  for  a  moment. 
This  is  reality;  the  other  was  a  mocking  sham.  If  there  is 
a  God  at  all,  I  will  look  Him  straight  in  the  face  with  you 
in  my  arms,  and  dare  Him  to  do  His  worst !  You  are  mine, 
mine !  And  I  am  yours.  My  heart  tells  me  so,  and  so  does 
yours,  does  it  not  ?  Oh  say  it  does,  my  love,  my  dear !" 

She  smiled  down  on  him.  "Chris,  I  love  to  hear  you  talk 
like  that,"  she  said,  "I  love  it  though  you  know  not  what 
you  say.  I  love  it,  though  I  believe  you  have  often  made 
love  to  other  women  perhaps  not  so  unlike  that !" 

Chris  dropped  his  eyes  at  her  words.  His  hand  sought 
the  edge  of  her  wrap  and  twisted  it  hotly  in  his  fingers. 
But  he  did  not  hesitate. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  185 

"Cecil,"  he  said,  "I  won't  attempt  to  hide  anything  from 
you.  I  have  thought  that  I  loved  other  women.  There 
seem  to  have  been  many  in  my  life,  I  don't  know  why.  I 
can't  say  that  I  come  to  you  as  perhaps  I  ought  to  have 
come.  I've  even  lived  with  other  women,  not  for  a  night 
or  two  like  most  men,  but  for  weeks  on  end.  There  was  a 
girl  in  France,  and  a  girl  even  when  I  was  a  boy  at  Oxford, 
silly  as  it  all  seems  now.  I've  always  been  hot-blooded  and 
impetuous.  But  every  one  of  those  loves  has  ended,  burnt 
out,  and  left  me  unsatisfied.  Oh  Cecily — can  you  believe  me? 
— this  is  so  different.  Even  though  I'm  so  hot-blooded,  I've 
been  very  cool  and — and — well,  calculating  with  those 
others.  I  don't  know  how  to  express  it,  but  I  have  deliber- 
ately dealt  with  them.  It  was  as  if  the  real  me  was  never 
stirred  the  whole  time,  though  I  confess  that  I  have  thought 
that  it  was.  But  it  is  utterly  different  with  you.  I  can't 
prove  it;  I  can  only  ask  you  to  believe  it  without  proof, 
because,  perhaps  your  heart  tells  you  to  believe;  but  it  is 
so."  And  he  raised  his  eyes,  caught  her  hand,  and  kissed 
it  quietly  now,  playing  with  her  fingers  like  a  man  who  dis- 
covers a  new,  intricate  and  wonderful  thing.  "It  is  so, 
Cecily,"  he  repeated. 

Cecil  sighed.  "It's  utterly  foolish,  dear,"  she  said,  "but 
I  believe  you.  Or  I  think  I  do.  God  knows  why.  Perhaps 
because  all  this  is  so  different  from  what  I  experienced 
when  Hugh  made  love  to  me.  Oh  my  dear,  you  cannot 
know  how  different !  And  how  different  am  I !  Perhaps,  if 

you  had  told  me  such  things  then But  I  don't  know; 

it  is  you  that  makes  it  different,  I  think.  But  put  that  on 
one  side.  We  have  got  to  deal  with  facts  as  they  are.  I'm 
a  married  woman,  Chris,  and  it  is  wicked  of  me  even  to 
allow  you  to  do  this." 

"You  shan't  say  that,"  he  burst  out.  "I  refuse  to  hear 
it,  or  to  allow  you  to  say  it.  We  never  planned  our  meeting. 
I've  never  flirted  with  you,  Cecily,  and  that  (and  there  was 
a  touch  of  humour  in  his  voice)  is  really  very  wonderful, 
my  dear.  Till  this  moment  I  swear  I  did  not  dream  that 


186  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

,you  could  love  me  as  I  love  you.  It  was  too  great  to  be 
believed.  This  very  afternoon — did  you  know  that  I  was 
coming?  Did  you  plan  to  sit  here  waiting  for  me?  You 
know  you  didn't !  Why,  you  wretch,  you  even  planned  not 
to  meet  me!  It  is  just  fate.  You  and  I  were  made  for  this 
and  for  one  another." 

"Did  I  not  plan?"  queried  Cecil  slowly  and  wonderingly. 
"My  dear,  it  seems  to  me  now  almost  as  if  I  did  know  you 
would  come,  and  did  prepare  to  meet  you.  It  is  as  if  there 
had  been  something  deep  down  in  me  that  moved  me  to 
these  things  without  my  own  self,  on  the  surface,  knowing 
why." 

"Well,"  he  exclaimed  triumphantly,  "what  more  do  you 
want?  You  talked  of  sin  just  now,  but  I  tell  you,  Cecily, 
that  if  there  is  sin  in  the  question  at  all,  it  will  lie  in  your 
going  back  now  to  Hugh,  if  you  do  go.  You  have  moved 
in  a  dream  till  now,  and  what  you  did  in  your  dream  was 
not  done  by  the  real  you  at  all.  Now  you  are  awake,  and 
now  you  must  choose.  You  walk  now  in  the  light,  and 
you  can  sin  now,  Cecily,  because  you  see  it." 

Cecil  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  and  leant  back  in  her 
chair.  Her  eyes  fell  on  the  clock  and  she  read  the  time,  and 
gave  a  start.  "Chris!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  must  go.  Hugh 
might  come  back  any  minute.  Do  you  know  you  have  been 
here  over  an  hour?  Let  me  gjet  up."  And  she  started  to 
her  feet. 

Chris  got  up  too.  At  the  sight  of  her  standing  there 
before  him,  passion  mastered  him  once  more.  He  folded 
her  in  his  arms  and  they  kissed  again  and  again  as  they 
had  kissed  before.  But  now  he  pressed  her  to  him  until 
she  had  hard  work  to  suppress  a  cry.  Yet  she  bent  her 
head  before  his  kisses;  dear  God,  she  told  herself  in  her 
ecstasy,  it  mattered  nothing  if  he  should  kill  her. 

The  tempest  a  little  spent,  she  looked  up,  murmuring  to 
him:  "Oh  Chris,  Chris,  my  darling,  my  love!  How  I  love 
you,  Chris.  I  had  no  idea  love  was  like  this.  It  pains, 
Chris,  so  that  I  can  hardly  speak.  I  can  bear  no  more  now. 


Let  me  go  and  dress,  my  dearest,  and  then,  if  there  is  time, 
I  will  come  and  we  can  talk  some  more." 

He  kissed  her  quietly  at  that,  and  released  her.  She 
moved  to  the  door,  folding  the  wrap  about  her  body.  When 
she  reached  it,  she  hesitated  a  moment  and  held  out  her 
hand.  He  leaped  across  and  seized  it,  kissing  it  again  and 
again.  Then  she  pulled  it  from  his  grasp  and  disappeared. 

Chris  walked  over  to  the  open  window  in  a  kind  of  dream. 
He  lifted  a  book  from  the  table  by  the  window,  and  read 
the  title,  hardly  knowing  what  he  did.  In  a  bewildered 
astonishment  he  noticed  how  his  hand  shook.  He  had  no 
plans  to  formulate,  and  indeed  he  found  he  could  hardly 
think  coherently  at  all.  His  whole  being  whispered  the 
girl's  name  to  him  and  he  was  content  for  the  moment  with 
that.  He  saw  the  beauty  of  the  garden,  of  the  woods,  and 
of  the  distant  mountains,  wholly  automatically,  for  in  reality 
he  saw  nothing  else  but  her.  Her  complete  and  instant  sur- 
render lingered  in  his  memory  like  an  enchanting  caress. 
Truly,  he  did  not  lie  when  he  said  that  in  all  his  life  he  had 
known  nothing  like  this. 

Then  the  door  opened  again  and  she  came  in.  He  turned 
eagerly  towards  her,  but  she,  radiant  and  smiling,  stopped 
him  with  a  gesture.  "No,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "you  don't. 
We  have  to  talk  at  once  about  this  Basutoland  business  for 
one  thing,  and  for  another  I've  ordered  tea.  Also  I  don't 
want  Hugh  to  find  me  with  my  hair  tumbling  down  and  my 
face  like  a  geranium!  Sit  over  there,  and  give  me  a  ciga- 
rette. Light  it  for  me,  please." 

He  did  so,  lighting  it  for  her  at  his  own  lips  first.  She 
took  it  with  a  look  at  him  which  made  it  hard  work  to  sit 
«till.  "Always  like  that,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  "when  you 
can.  But  oh,  Chris,  I  believe  you  have  had  a  horrible  lot 
of  practice!" 

"Always,"  he  repeated,  "then  very  soon,  Cecily,  it  shall 
be  always.  Very  soon,  dearest.  What  is  there  to  wait  for  ?" 

She  laughed.  Her  short  absence  had  given  her  back  high 
spirits  and  command  of  herself.  "There's  a  lot  to  wait  for," 


1 88  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

she  said.  "For  one  thing,  you  must  prove  yourself.  On 
your  own  confession  you've  been  a  pretty  rascal,  Chris,  and 
I  expect,  if  I  knew  the  truth,  I  should  be  appalled.  Yes, 
even  I,  wise  as  I  seem  to  have  grown  lately.  Oh  dear,  what 
a  baby  I  was  when  I  married !  But  look  here ;  let's  change 
the  subject  while  we  can;  what  about  Qacha's  Nek  and  this 
Tselike  business  ?" 

"What  about  it?"  demanded  Chris.  "It's  settled,  isn't 
it?" 

"You  know  it's  not  settled,"  she  said.  "Hugh  and  I  are 
quarrelling  over  it,  but  as  I  always  get  my  way,  we  shan't 

go." 

"But  I've  made  all  my  arrangements,  and  written  to 
Pamela  and  Eldred  too,"  objected  Chris. 

Cecil  regarded  him  severely.  "In  a  word,  you've  lost  no 
time  since  you  got  my  note,"  she  said. 

"You've  grown  wonderfully  cute  as  well  as  wise,  lately," 
laughed  Chris. 

Her  expression  changed.  "Perhaps,"  she  said,  flicking  an 
ash  off  her  cigarette.  "But,  oh  Chris,  how  can  we  go  to  the 
Tselike  after  what  that  awful  Haketsebe  said?  It  was  a 
warning.  It  would  be  madness  to  go." 

Chris  smoked  meditatively.  "I  don't  look  at  it  like  that 
at  all,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  sure,  for  one  thing,  that  it  was 
a  warning.  It  may  be  only  a  curious  coincidence." 

"You  don't  think  so,"  said  Cecil  decisively. 

He  hesitated.  "Well,  to  be  honest,"  he  said  at  last,  "I 
don't.  I  think  it  is  one  of  those  curious  things  that  will 
not  fit  in  with  reasonable  views  of  life.  But  there  are  many 
such.  Truthfully,  I  think  it  is  all  part  and  parcel  of  our 
own  wonderful  discovery.  I  doubt  there  is  any  chance  at 
all  in  the  world,  Cecily.  I  confess  I  don't  understand  things, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  we've  both  been  led  right  up  to 
to-day  almost  as  if  we  had  had  no  will  at  all.  That  voice 
of  Haketsebe's  is  part  of  the  whole.  We  must  go,  I  think." 

"Surely  not,  if  we  set  our  faces  against  it,"  objected 
Cecil,  unhappily. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  189 

Chris  leant  forward  eagerly.  "Come  away  with  me 
instead,"  he  whispered. 

Before  Cecil  could  reply,  tea  came  in.  They  talked  of 
nothing  in  particular  for  a  few  minutes  while  the  girl  set 
the  table  and  handed  the  cups,  but  when  she  had  gone, 
Chris  repeated  the  invitation. 

Cecil  decisively  shook  her  head.  "If  we  could  have  gone 
instantly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,"  she  said,  "I  think  I 
should  have  done.  But  not  now — not  yet  at  any  rate." 

"You  can  say  'not  yet'?"  questioned  Chris  eagerly. 

Cecil  leant  back  in  her  chair  and  looked  out  into  the 
bright  sunshine.  "Yes,  dear,"  she  said,  "I  think  I  say  that. 
.  .  .  But  I  don't  know  what  it  means.  Years  and  years 
perhaps.  Perhaps  one  day — but  then  I  shall  be  an  old 
woman  and  you  won't  want  me  any  more." 

An  impetuous  denial  burst  from  Chris,  but  she  stopped 
him.  "Wait  a  minute,"  she  said  musingly.  "Perhaps  you 
are  right ;  perhaps  we  are  meant  to  go  on  this  trek ;  perhaps 
by  the  Falls  and  the  Pool  things  like  that  will  be  made  clear." 

"That's  it,"  asserted  Chris.    "That's  what  I  think." 

Cecil  gave  a  little  shudder.  "I  dread  it  somehow,"  she 
said. 

"Dread  it!"  echoed  Chris.  "Oh  my  dear,  I  can  hardly 
wait  for  it!  Whatever  may  come,  I  long  for  it.  At  any 
rate  we  shall  be  together.  Think  how  heavenly  it  will  be 
to  see  each  other  every  day,  to  ride  together,  to  talk  together, 
for  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks,  Cecily.  Oh  it  will  be  divine ! 
Surely  you  want  it  too?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  dreamily,  "I  do,  but  shall  we  see  so  much 
of  each  other?  You  forget  Hugh,  Chris." 

"I  don't,"  he  exclaimed.  "Oh  no,  little  Cecily,  I  don't 
forget  him,  but  there  will  be  a  lot  of  us  there.  I  may  not 
have  you  altogether,  but  at  least  neither  will  he.  It  will  be 
a  sort  of  fight,  a  wrestle  for  you.  And  I  shall  win,  I  know 
I  shall !" 

"Hardly  a  fair  fight,  Chris,"  said  Cecil. 

"No,"  he  burst  out,  "it  isn't  a  fair  fight.    That's  what's 


190  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

so  damned  hard.  He  starts  in  possession.  He  can  see  you, 
talk  to  you,  kiss  you,  and  it  will  be  merely  what  is  expected. 
I  must  wait  for  chances  like  a  dog  waiting  for  bones.  I 
hate  Hugh,  I  think,  Cecily." 

"You  mustn't  say  that,"  she  said.  "I  don't  I  can't 
somehow.  Perhaps  it's  because  he  loves  me  so.  I  know 
he  does." 

"Of  course  he  does,"  broke  in  Chris.  "He  couldn't  help 
himself.  All  men  who  meet  you  love  you,  I  know." 

"Don't  be  absurd,"  she  said  smiling. 

"It  isn't  absurd,"  he  retorted.  "In  Kokstad  it's  all  'the 
beautiful  Mrs.  Sinclair.'  Old  Hardcastle  daren't  mention 
your  name  for  fear  of  his  wife,  but  I  know  what  even  he 
thinks.  Probably  the  parson  is  the  only  one  who  is  not  in 
love  with  you,  and  I  doubt  even  him.  He's  a  fool,  but  he's 
not  blind!" 

"What  fun,"  laughed  Cecil.  "I  shall  certainly  flirt  with 
him  if  I  get  the  chance  now !" 

Chris  put  down  his  cup  and  crossed  to  her.  "You're  not 
to  say  that,"  he  said.  "Kiss  me,  and  tell  me  you  don't 
mean  it" 

She  turned  her  head  away,  rippling  with  laughter.  "Go 
away,  Chris — you  must.  Go  away,  do  you  hear  ?  Someone 
will  come.  .  .  .  Well,  just  one  then.  .  .  .  Oh,  that's  half  a 
dozen!  And  besides  who  are  you  to  command  me?  I  do 
as  I  like." 

He  subsided  into  his  chair.  "Oh  I  know,  Cecily,  you  do," 
he  said.  "You  always  will.  You  make  my  strength  like 
water, — I  can't  even  pretend  you  don't.  But  pity  me,  my 
darling,  please  pity  me.  I've  hardly  realised  you  yet,  and 
it's  so  awful  to  have  you  and  yet  not  to  have  you.  It's 
awful,  Cecily.  I  doubt  I  can  stand  it." 

She  was  out  of  her  chair  and  by  his  side  in  a  moment, 
kneeling  by  him,  murmuring  over  him,  kissing  him.  "My 
poor  boy,"  she  whispered,  "my  maa.  .  .  ." 

He  straightened  himself.  "What  an  Eve  you  are, 
darling,"  he  said  wonderingly.  "I  shall  call  you  'Eve.'  It 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  191 

seems  to  fit  you,  and  I'd  rather  call  you  by  a  name  no  one 
else  uses." 

Cecil  got  up  slowly.  "Why  am  I  like  Eve  ?"  she  demanded. 
"It's  strange  your  saying  that." 

"Why  are  you  like  Eve?"  he  said  meditatively,  looking 
up  at  her,  "why,  I  wonder.  Partly,  I  think,  because  you're 
so  delectable.  You're  made  for  men  for  some  reason,  I  think. 
I  know  perfectly  well  all  men  would  say  that.  You're  weak, 
in  a  way,  which  appeals  to  a  man,  and  yet  there  is  some- 
thing strong  in  you  which  appeals  just  as  much  too.  You 
make  me  want  to  do  things,  to  make  a  place  for  you,  to  win 
the  world  for  you.  I  want  to  glory  in  you,  and  to  let 
everyone  know  that  you  love  me.  And  yet  I  want  to  rest 
in  you,  and  for  that  you  are  so  perfectly  made.  I  could  lie 
at  your  feet  all  day,  little  Eve,  and  just  look  at  you.  I've 
never  felt  like  that  with  a  woman  before." 

He  ceased.    Cecil  played  with  a  teaspoon  and  said  nothing. 

"And  more  than  that,"  he  went  on,  rousing  himself,  "I 
know  that  for  your  sake  I  would  do  anything.  You  are  more 
to  me  than  Paradise.  I  would  rather  be  outside  it  with  you 
than  inside  it  with " 

"Lilith,"  said  Cecil,  swiftly. 

He  stared  at  her.  "What  do  you  know  about  Lilith?"  he 
demanded.  "And  why  Lilith  ?  Explain.  I  don't  see  a  bit" 

Cecil  laughed  wearily.  "I  can't,"  she  said.  "You  re- 
minded me  of  something  a  girl  once  said  to  me,  but  it's  not 
that  only.  There  is  more.  I  know  something  I  can't  say. 
It's  just  as  if  I  knew  something  deep  down  in  me,  only  I 
don't  know  what  it  is  that  I  know.  Perhaps  you  will  teach 
me.  Yes,  Chris,  we  must  go  on  this  trek." 

He  laughed  triumphantly,  forgetting  everything  else  in 
his  enthusiasm.  "Hurrah,"  he  cried,  "that's  settled  anyway. 
And  you  will  ride  with  me  every  day?  I  want  to  hear  all 
about  you,  about  your  home,  your  school,  everything.  I 
know  nothing,  remember.  You  are  you;  that  in  a  way  is 
enough  for  me.  But  now  that  I  have  you,  I  want  to  know 
all  there  is  to  know.  Will  you  tell  me?" 


192  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"Anything  and  everything,  my  dear,  I  think,"  she  said. 
"Only,  Chris,  there  is  really  nothing  to  tell." 

Then  the  sound  of  a  motor  broke  suddenly  on  their  ears. 
They  looked  at  each  other.  "Oh  I  dread  meeting  him!" 
she  exclaimed.  "I  feel  as  if  he  is  bound  to  guess." 

Chris  moved  quickly  to  her  side  and  snatched  a  kiss.  Then 
he  caught  her  hand  and  held  it  steadily  for  a  moment. 
"Little  Eve,"  he  said,  "be  brave.  He  can't  guess.  I'll  come 
again  soon.  Now  I'll  go  and  meet  him,  and  you  hurry  to 
the  kitchen  and  come  in  afterwards.  You  can  order  more 
tea." 

Hugh  was  in  a  good  mood,  and  very  pleased  with  himself. 
He  had  sold  some  young  stock  at  an  excellent  figure,  and 
the  car  had  run  well.  He  greeted  Chris  friendlily,  and  did 
not  seem  surprised  when  the  other  told  him  that  his  share 
of  the  arrangements  for  the  trek  were  made.  "But,"  he  said, 
"for  some  unknown  reason  my  wife  is  all  at  once  dead 
against  it.  You'll  have  to  help  me  overcome  her  objections. 
She's  the  sweetest  little  woman  in  the  world,  but  when  she 
gets  a  fit  like  this,  I  confess  she  is  too  tough  for  me." 

Chris  thought  rapidly.  He  had  to  bank  on  Cecil's  helping 
him,  but  he  had  on  the  other  hand  to  make  some  reply  at 
once.  "I  know,"  he  said.  "She's  been  giving  me  her  views 
with  my  tea,  and  I've  been  trying  to  talk  her  over.  I  think 
she  is  keener  now.  It  was  some  idea  about  not  wanting  to 
leave  Ronnie  that  held  her  back,  I  think." 

"Bless  her,"  said  Hugh.  "But  she  wouldn't  say  that  to 
me." 

They  entered  the  drawing-room  from  the  stoep,  and  a 
second  or  two  later  Cecil  came  in.  Hugh  went  over  to  her 
at  once  and  kissed  her.  Chris  bit  his  lip  and  looked  away. 
"Well,  my  darling,"  said  Hugh,  "how's  your  headache?  Did 
you  get  a  sleep?" 

"I'm  all  right,  thank  you,"  said  Cecil,  moving  away  from 
him,  but  avoiding  Chris's  eye.  "Did  you  sell  your  stock? 
You're  back  early,  aren't  you?" 

She  poured  out  his  tea  and  handed  it  to  him,  and  offered 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  193 

Chris  another  cup.  He  accepted  and  went  over  to  the  tray 
to  get  it  from  her,  standing  there  with  his  back  to  Hugh 
and  his  eyes  on  her  face.  She  just  glanced  at  him  as  she 
handed  it,  appealingly  he  thought. 

"So  Ashurst  has  been  persuading  you  as  to  the  trek,  has 
he?"  said  Hugh.  "I  hear  he  hopes  he  has  been  more  suc- 
cessful than  I." 

"I  told  your  husband,"  said  Chris  laughingly,  before  she 
could  reply,  "that  I  believed  it  was  only  the  thought  of 
Ronnie  that  kept  you  back.  Why  not  get  Mrs.  Hardcastle 
to  look  after  him  for  a  bit?  I'm  sure  she  would." 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  said  Hugh.  "You  know  how  he 
likes  playing  with  her  kiddies." 

It  seemed  to  Chris  that  Cecil  was  horribly  ill  at  ease,  while 
he  was  there,  and  he  himself  longed  to  go.  He  had  lived 
easily  and  carelessly,  but  he  had  an  Englishman's  sense  of 
honour.  What  he  had  done,  he  had  done.  His  love  had 
come  in  like  a  flood  and  swallowed  everything.  But  now 
it  seemed  to  him  terrible  to  be  sitting  there  as  this  man's 
guest  with  this  secret  at  his  heart.  Yet  he  could  not  help  it. 
He  wished  wildly  that  he  could  tell  Hugh  and  that  they 
could  go  out,  there,  into  the  bright  sun  and  on  to  the  velvet 
lawn  with  a  couple  of  pistols,  and  settle  it.  But  one  didn't 
do  that  sort  of  thing  nowadays.  He  fell  to  wondering  what 
Hugh  would  say  or  do  if  he  knew,  and  he  could  not  make 
up  his  mind.  He  could  not  picture  the  man  mad  with  anger, 
and  yet  he  would  undoubtedly  view  the  whole  affair  from 
an  old-fashioned  point  of  view.  Cecil  was  his  wife.  He, 
Chris,  was  proposing  theft.  That  was  how  Hugh  would 
think  of  it.  It  was  all  so  crude,  so  horribly  muddled,  so 
impossible.  But  what  could  he  do?  Get  up  and  go,  and 
then  blow  his  own  brains  out?  Leave  by  the  next  mail? 
He  swore  to  himself.  He  would  not  do  that. 

So  he  sat  on,  joining  automatically  in  the  conversation, 
covertly  watching  Cecil,  horribly  conscious  of  Hugh.  After 
a  shadow  of  defence,  Cecil  gave  in  to  the  trek  proposals. 
Hugh  was  delighted;  he  was  plainly  now  looking  forward 


194  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

to  the  whole  thing.  They  discussed  details.  Cecil  took,  and 
lit  for  herself  this  time,  another  cigarette.  Chris  watched 
the  poise  of  her  head,  noticed  her  little  ears,  the  gleam  that 
shot  now  and  again  in  the  sun  through  her  hair,  her  ankle 
swinging  beneath  her  as  she  lay  back  easily  in  her  chair,  her 
quick  smoking.  At  last  he  could  bear  it  no  more,  and  he 
rose  to  go.  She  shook  hands  without  looking  at  him,  but 
as  he  followed  her  husband  out  on  to  the  stoep,  he  glanced 
back.  She  was  standing  watching  him  with  eyes  like  a  caged 
wild  thing's.  And  as  she  saw  herself  noticed,  she  stepped 
back  quickly  into  the  room. 

"Well,"  said  Hugh,  "it  only  remains  to  hear  what  your 
cousin  and  Gwen  have  to  say.  Let  us  know  as  soon  as  you 
hear,  will  you  ?  I'll  go  over  my  stores  to-morrow  and  make 
a  note  of  what's  wanted.  Someone  will  have  to  run  over 
to  Matatiele  and  see  King  at  the  hotel — perhaps  we  might 
both  go.  My  wife  might  care  for  the  run  too.  What  do 
you  say?  The  day  after  to-morrow?  Very  likely  you  will 
have  heard  from  your  cousin  then." 

Chris  assented.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "I'd  like  very  much  to 
go  over  with  you.  But  don't  you  bother  to  go  if  you're  busy. 
I  can  do  it.  I  could  take  Mrs.  Sinclair  if  you  like,  and  she 
could  show  me  the  way." 

"We'll  leave  it,"  said  Hugh.  "I'll  go  if  I  can.  The  day 
after  to-morrow  then.  Better  come  up  and  have  some  lunch. 
Drop  in  any  time,  you  know.  We  shall  always  be  delighted 
to  see  you.  Cheerio.  Remember  me  to  the  Hardcastles. 
And  oh,  Ashurst,  you  might  sound  Mrs.  H.  about  taking 
Ronnie.  It  would  be  the  very  best  thing  if  they  would 
have  him." 

"Right,"  said  Chris,  "I  will.     Cheerio." 

Hugh  waved  his  hand  and  Chris  gave  his  mare  her  head. 

He  always  rode  recklessly,  but  he  rode  ten  times  more  so 
now.  The  cheery  friendliness  of  the  other  man  pierced  him 
like  a  spear.  He  hated  himself,  and  the  beat  of  his  horse's 
hoofs  maddened  him.  He  half  wished  that  she  would  slip 
and  kill  him.  Easy,  careless,  morally  lax  enough,  Chris  had 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  195 

however  hitherto  been  honourable.  But  now,  but  now,  but 
now  .  .  .  ?  The  question  beat  in  the  rhythm  of  his  going, 
and  he  swore  savagely  to  himself.  And  yet  over  it  all  rose 
the  face  of  Cecil,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  spoken  to  her 
but  the  literal  truth.  Nothing  counted  beside  his  love  for 
her.  It  was  all  very  well  to  talk  of  honour,  of  morality, 
of  God ; — they  were  less  than  the  dust  in  the  balance.  To- 
day the  question  was  more  than  he  could  face,  but  the  fact 
stared  at  him.  And  when  he  thought  of  her  alone  now  with 
the  man  he  had  just  left,  it  made  no  odds  that  he  was  so 
sporting  a  fellow.  He  could  almost  have  turned  and  ridden 
straight  back.  .  .  . 

Pamela's  answer  was  just  what  he  expected. 

"DEAR  CHRIS  (her  letter  ran), 

"The  scheme  sounds  to  me  absolutely  perfect.  Father 
says  I  can  have  what  I  like  and  go  when  I  please  so  long 
as  he  is  left  out  of  it,  and  he  will  gladly  find  you  with  horses 
and  so  on.  He  says  you  are  his  guest  for  the  business.  So 
tell  the  good  folk  at  Springfontein  that  we  will  send  our  gear 
on  ahead  to  Matatiele  as  arranged  and  motor  over  on  the 
Saturday  with  them,  for  I'm  writing  to  ask  Cecil  to  put  me 
up  Friday  night.  You  had  better  be  there  too. 

"Yours  affectionately, 

"PAMELA." 

"P.S. — I'm  riding  over  to  Elandskop  to-morrow  in  case 
Gwen  wants  assistance  with  'daddy.' — P." 

Gwen,  however,  required  no  assistance.  Her  father  got 
his  letter  at  lunch  and  read  it  through  in  silence.  Then  he 
glanced  at  her  and  smiled,  passing  it  across  the  table. 
"There's  a  post-script  for  you,  Gwen,"  he  said,  "but  you'd 
better  read  the  lot." 

She  read  it  through,  and  jumped  up,  to  run  round  to  him 
and  cry  enthusiastically :  "Oh,  dad,  do  let's  go !  We  may, 
mayn't  we?  It  will  be  perfect  bliss!" 

"What  will  be  bliss?"  asked  Mrs.  Eldred. 


196  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

The  letter  was  duly  read  to  her.  "Can  you  go?"  she 
asked  her  husband. 

"I  think  so,  dear,"  he  said.  "It  means  leaving  Len  to 
look  after  the  farm,  and  I  expect  he'd  have  rather  liked  to 
have  gone.  But  one  of  us  must  stay.  What  do  you  say, 
Len?" 

"What,  go  with  all  that  crowd  ?"  asked  the  young  fellow. 
"No,  thanks,  not  this  child.  You  go,  dad,  and  about  Christ- 
mas I'll  remember  it  and  beg  off  for  a  run  up  to  Rhodesia. 
I  want  to  see  Harold's  place.  So  don't  worry  about  me." 

"So  it  only  remains  for  you  to  say,  mother,"  said  Eldred. 

"Oh  go,  dear,"  she  said,  "most  certainly.  Gwen  will 
thoroughly  enjoy  it  and  it  will  do  her  good.  I  should  be 
happier,  too,  if  you  were  with  her.  Besides,  she'll  see  some 
more  of  this  wonderful  Mr.  Ashurst,"  she  added,  smiling. 

The  girl  pouted.  "Mother,  I  do  wish  you'd  leave  him 
alone,"  she  said.  "I  know  perfectly  well  that  Cecil  got 
engaged  before  she'd  been  six  months  back  from  school,  but 
I'm  not  Cecil.  Besides,  I  don't  even  like  Mr.  Ashurst,  or 
at  least  not  much,  though  he  has  been  nicer  lately.  Still  it 
will  be  a  lovely  trek  with  Hugh  and  Cecil  and  you,  dad. 
It's  what  I've  wanted  for  ages.  What  horse  can  I  ride, 
daddy?" 

There  only  remained  Qacha's  Nek.  After  many  delibera- 
tions, the  unanimous  decision  of  the  main  conspirators  had 
been  that  Hugh  should  write  to  his  friend  Mallory  and 
boldly  ask  him  and  his  wife  to  join  them.  This  he  did,  and 
the  two  at  Qacha's  Nek  consulted  together. 

The  Camp  or  Government  Reserve  of  Qacha's  Nek  con- 
sists of  a  horse-shoe  shaped  ring  of  European  houses,  a 
couple  of  stores,  a  church,  and  a  jail  just  above  the  Pass 
that  climbs  into  Basutoland  from  East  Griqualand.  The 
centre  of  the  horse-shoe  is  an  open  sloping  space  of  what  is 
now  rock  and  stone,  for  the  heavy  rains  have  finally  washed 
it  clean,  and  its  open  end  lies  towards  the  valley  of  the 
Orange  River  some  ten  miles  away.  The  tops  of  mountains 
hem  it  in  around  except  on  this  side,  and  a  fostering  Govern- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  197 

ment  has  set  them  with  plantations  of  hardy  trees.  It  lies 
very  high,  and  except  for  its  isolation,  it  would  be  hard  to 
hit  on  a  more  lovely  spot.  Well-watered,  it  basks  in  the 
sun  the  greater  part  of  the  year,  and  the  panorama  of 
mountains  beyond  the  Orange  is  superb.  The  morning  mists 
drift  over  them,  the  sun  dies  behind  them,  and  by  day  they 
raise  their  rocky  heads  into  the  serene  blue. 

The  Mallorys'  house  was  a  little  one,  on  the  far  side  of 
the  approach  but  near  the  top  of  the  curve.  Its  back  was 
towards  the  camp  road,  with  a  lawn-tennis  court  on  one  side 
and  various  out-houses  on  the  other.  The  garden,  more  like 
an  old-fashioned  English  garden  than  an  African  one,  sloped 
down  away  from  the  house  to  a  little  stream.  It  was  well- 
wooded,  and  below  the  lawn  and  flower  beds,  behind  high 
hedges  of  sweet-scented  shrubs,  stretched  the  orchard  and 
vegetable  gardens.  Little  paths  wound  in  and  out  of  them, 
closely  shaded  with  fruit  trees  and  planted  on  either  side 
with  violets,  fox-gloves  and  now  and  again  roses.  Here, 
in  their  seasons,  were  abundance  of  peaches,  apples,  cherries 
and  plums.  From  the  lawn,  you  could  not  see  the  camp, 
but  the  veld  and  hill-side  stretched  away  till  they  were  lost 
in  fold  on  fold  of  the  hills. 

Mallory  and  his  wife  were  keen  gardeners,  and  had  indeed 
made  the  place.  She  was  dividing  fox-gloves  when  he  came 
in  from  the  office  with  Sinclair's  letter,  a  tall  fellow  in 
B.M.P.  uniform. 

"Here,  Frances,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  think  of  this?" 

She  read  it  through  in  silence,  and  then  whistled.  "Six 
of  them,"  she  said.  "Heaven  knows  where  we  shall  put 
them  all,  but  thank  goodness  we've  got  some  sheep." 

He  laughed.  "It's  pretty  plain  that  if  we  put  them  up 
it  can  only  be  for  a  scratch  picnic  affair.  But  I  should  think 
Eldred  and  the  girl  had  better  go  to  the  Residency — Bos- 
worth  would  certainly  take  them  if  I  asked  him.  He's  quite 
a  sportsman.  Then  we  can  manage.  Hugh  and  his  wife 
in  the  spare  room,  this  Ashurst  person  in  the  bath-room,  and 
the  cousin  in  the  little  room  on  the  stoep.  I'll  tell  Hugh 


ig8  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

that  it'll  all  be  a  rough  and  ready  business.  But  shall  we 
go  on  with  them?" 

"I  shan't.  It's  too  much  for  me.  But  you  can.  Do; 
he's  quite  right,  you  must  go  on  patrol  some  time  soon  and 
you  might  just  as  well  go  with  them.  You'd  enjoy  it.  You 
know  Pamela  Urfurd  too,  don't  you?" 

"I've  just  met  her,"  said  Mallory  absent-mindedly.  He 
was  thinking  of  a  dark-haired  excited  girl  with  whom  he 
had  danced  at  a  Matatiele  Race  Meeting  Ball  the  year  that 
Hugh  had  married  her.  It  struck  him  that  he  would  rather 
like  to  go. 

"She's  a  queer  woman,  I  think,"  said  his  wife.  "I'm 
always  expecting  to  hear  that  she  has  been  mixed  up  in  some 
scandal  or  another.  She's  just  that  sort." 

"Good  heavens,  Frances,"  exclaimed  Mallory,  "I  should 
never  have  thought  so!  What  in  the  world  makes  you 
think  that?  As  jolly  a  girl  and  as  straightforward  as  ever 
I  saw,  I  thought.  Oh!  ...  You  mean  Pamela  Urfurd," 
he  added  lamely. 

Frances  Mallory  laughed.  She  knew  her  husband.  "Oh," 
she  said,  "so  that's  the  way  the  wind  blows !  Now,  my  dear, 
I  only  saw  Mrs.  Hugh  once  but  I  feel  pretty  sure  she  could 
twist  any  man  she  pleased  round  her  little  finger,  if  she  woke 
up.  I  think  I  shall  come  with  you  after  all." 

Mallory  smiled.  "Anyway  I'll  write  and  tell  them  to 
come,"  he  said.  "And  let's  hope  Mrs.  Sinclair  is  still  asleep." 


CHAPTER  VI 

KING,  proprietor  of  the  Imperial,  was  lurking  in  his  bar 
when  he  heard  the  sound  of  their  cars,  and,  tossing 
down  his  drink,  he  went  out  quickly  to  meet  them.  A  few 
loungers  in  the  shade  of  the  blue-gums  on  the  edge  of  the 
dusty  square  of  the  sleepy  little  town  got  up  and  strolled 
casually  nearer.  It  was  really  rather  an  event.  Matatiele 
has  its  show  and  an  occasional  ball,  but  for  the  greater  part 
of  the  year  its  visitors  are  not  more  exciting  than  stray 
bagmen.  On  Saturday  and  Sunday,  it  is  true,  the  hotel  does 
better,  for  the  surrounding  farmers  come  in  and  put  up 
there  for  a  drink  and  possibly  a  meal;  but  this  particular 
expedition  had  been  filtering  in  for  a  week  past  and  the 
principals  were  eagerly  expected.  Ashurst,  for  example,  was 
now  known  to  be  a  novelist,  though  naturally  up  to  that  time 
no  one  had  heard  of  his  books ;  but  it  would  have  been  news 
to  him  to  learn  of  Matatiele,  as  he  now  might  do,  that  he 
had  been  co-respondent  in  a  divorce  case  and  was  at  least  a 
millionaire.  He  would  have  been  the  last,  however,  to 
grudge  the  little  town  its  thrill,  and  it  was  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  the  whole  outfit  was  as  good  to  Matatiele  as  a  travel- 
ling circus.  There  were  the  three  cars,  containing  the  six 
Europeans  and  three  natives,  and  in  addition  two  more  boys 
were  waiting  there  with  a  cavalcade  of  nineteen  horses  of 
their  own,  to  say  nothing  of  a  mounted  native  police  orderly 
whom  Mallory  had  sent  in  with  a  letter  of  welcome  to  act 
as  an  escort  into  the  Protectorate. 

None  of  the  girls  had  ever  before  trekked  on  such  a  scale, 
and  they  were  all  vastly  excited.  Sinclair  took  the  lead  very 
efficiently,  and  indeed  it  was  he  who  had  arranged  things 
with  King.  So  now  he  shook  hands  and  asked  that  the 

199 


200  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

ladies  might  be  shown  their  rooms.  Eldred  accompanied 
them  along  the  corridor  of  the  big  rambling  bungalow,  and 
Hugh  and  Chris  made  their  way  into  the  bar.  They  had 
hardly  ordered  drinks  when  the  elder  man  rejoined  them, 
smiling. 

"I  say,  Hugh,"  he  said,  "I  hope  you  won't  mind  your 
arrangements  being  upset  a  little,  but  the  girls  insist  on 
sharing  one  room.  I  told  Cecil  I'd  come  and  placate  you. 
They're  each  as  mad  as  one  another  and  like  so  many  school 
girls,  and  will  probably  sit  up  half  the  night  talking,  but  I 
should  think  it  was  best  to  let  'em.  Pamela  was  to  sleep  in 
Gwen's  room  anyway,  wasn't  she?  so  it  only  means  your 
being  alone.  Hope  you  won't  mind." 

Chris,  glancing  swiftly  at  him,  saw  that  he  did,  and  came 
promptly  to  the  rescue.  "Give  your  wife  her  head,  Sinclair," 
he  said  laughingly,  "for,  from  my  vast  experience  of  women, 
I  should  say  it  was  always  best." 

Hugh's  momentary  ill-humour  vanished,  but  he  drained 
his  glass,  put  it  down  and  got  up.  "Right,"  he  said,  "but 
I'll  just  go  and  see  that  my  wife  has  all  she  wants.  Our 
things  were  all  packed  together." 

Through  the  open  door  Chris  saw  him  meet  Cecil  on  the 
stoep,  take  her  arm  and  return  with  her.  It  was  nothing, 
but  the  sight  angered  him  intensely.  Hugh  had  a  right  to 
do  that  which  he  had  not.  Cecil,  too,  seemed  to  accept  it 
so  coolly.  Of  course  she  could  not  do  otherwise,  but  small 
as  the  incident  was,  it  served  to  disgruntle  him. 

Eldred  meanwhile  was  chatting  with  the  men  in  the  bar. 
"What's  it  been  like  on  the  Berg  ?"  he  asked  the  bar-tender. 
"Fine?  Frost  yet?" 

"No  frost,"  said  the  man,  "but  pretty  cold  at  night.  I 
hope  you've  got  blankets  enough  for  the  ladies.  People  this 
side  don't  realise  what  it  can  be  like  on  that.  I  know,  for 
before  I  got  this  job,  I  used  to  go  round  up  there  buying 
cattle  for  Milton  and  Esdras.  Rotten  game.  Christ!  the 
nights  I've  had!" 

"Is  there  much  game  up  there?"  queried  Chris. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  201 

"No,  not  much.  You  hardly  ever  see  buck.  The  Govern- 
ment's got  a  reserve,  but  the  niggers  kill  everything  they 
can  and  the  herd  boys  with  their  dogs  do  an  awful  amount 
of  mischief.  They  run  down  the  does  with  their  young, 
and  even  massacre  the  small  birds  of  the  veld  by  giving  the 
little  beasts  no  time  to  rest  and  chasin'  them  till  they  drop. 
Damned  shame,  but  you  can't  stop  it.  Still  there  are  game 
birds  of  course  in  the  wilder  parts — partridge,  duck,  pigeon. 
I  always  took  a  gun  and  shot  for  the  pot." 

"One  can  buy  skoff  ?"  queried  Eldred. 

"Oh,  you  won't  want  for  food.  The  niggers  are  very 
decent,  I  will  say  that.  Besides  if  you're  going  with  Mr. 
Mallory,  they'll  bring  you  presents  of  everything  they  have. 
It's  a  good  thing  to  be  a  Government  official  up  there,  I  can 
tell  you.  Not  but  what  Mallory's  not  a  very  fine  fellow, 
and  well  known  in  these  parts  too.  One  of  the  best  in  the 
service  I  think." 

Laughter  and  talk  sounded  outside  and  they  all  turned  to 
look.  The  three  girls  were  coming  out  arm  in  arm,  and 
Hugh  was  not  to  be  seen.  Pamela  caught  sight  of  her 
cousin,  and  drew  the  others  to  the  door  of  the  bar.  "There 
you  are,"  she  said,  "witness  the  lords  of  creation.  Nobody 
offers  us  a  drink.  We  are  sent  off  to  our  rooms  and  told 
to  unpack,  but  the  men  go  straight  to  the  bar.  Come  out 
of  it,  you  two,  or  we  shall  come  in." 

"Let's,"  cried  Cecil,  and  entered. 

The  bar-tender  wiped  the  bar  down,  glanced  at  Chris,  and 
smiled. 

Her  father  put  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "We'll  all  go  and 
get  some  tea,"  he  said.  "As  a  matter  of  fact  it's  ordered. 
After  all,  Cecil,  we've  had  the  job  of  driving  the  cars  up 
here." 

"I  like  that,"  said  Gwen.  "That's  a  mere  excuse,  daddy. 
We  would  have  driven  them  if  we'd  had  the  chance.  And 
probably  better.  Pam's  got  a  bruise  on  her  arm  as  big  as  a 
saucer  as  a  result  of  Mr.  Ashurst's  bumping  her  into  a  small 
grave  on  the  road." 


202  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Chris  looked  comically  solemn.  "Miss  Eldred,"  he  said, 
"nothing  that  I  say  or  do  is  right  with  you.  But  you  know 
I'm  not  used  to  your  excellent  roads  out  here.  I  am  for 
ever  being  told  that  they  are  better  than  they  used  to  be,  but, 
try  to  believe  though  I  do,  it  doesn't  amount  to  much.  How- 
ever, let's  go  for  the  tea,  and  then  what  do  you  say  to  a 
stroll  round  the  town  to  see  the  sights?" 

Pamela  chuckled  as  they  left  the  bar.  "There's  a  vast 
amount  to  see,"  she  said. 

"Shut  up,  Pam,"  said  Gwen,  "it's  an  excellent  plan  and 
there's  heaps  to  see.  Chris  is  quite  right.  Oh!"  she  ex- 
claimed, suddenly  realising  that  she  had  used  his  Christian 
name. 

"Gwen,"  said  Chris  instantly,  "that's  perfectly  splendid. 
I'm  sure  we  don't  want  Mr.  and  Miss  on  this  trek.  Do  let 
it  be  Chris." 

"What  about  the  Mrs.  ?"  asked  Pamela  slyly. 

Chris  and  Cecil  shot  a  quick  glance  at  each  other  which 
did  not  escape  Pamela,  and  the  latter  had  a  horrible  suspicion 
that  she  was  blushing.  But  Chris  laughed  easily.  "I  shall 
have  to  approach  Hugh  on  the  subject,"  he  said  lightly. 

Half  way  through  tea,  Sinclair  came  in.  "Where  have 
you  been?"  demanded  Cecil.  "The  tea's  half  cold.  Come 
and  have  a  cup  quickly,  and  then  we're  all  off  for  a  stroll." 

"My  darling,"  remonstrated  Hugh,  in  his  typical  way, 
"you  seem  to  forget  that  some  one  must  see  to  the  horses 
and  the  packing.  There  are  all  the  packs  to  go  through. 
It's  no  good  leaving  it  to  the  boys.  We're  short  of  several 
straps  as  it  is." 

"Oh  do  be  quiet,  Hugh,"  exclaimed  Cecil  petulantly.  "You 
always  make  a  huge  bother  out  of  everything.  We  can  see 
about  them  to-morrow." 

Her  husband  said  nothing,  but  shrugged  his  shoulders 
significantly  and  helped  himself  to  bread  and  butter.  Eldred 
took  up  his  defence.  "Cecil,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "Hugh's 
quite  right.  But  you  need  not  sta^  for  us.  He  and  I  know 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  203 

Matatiele  well  enough.  We'll  leave  Ashurst — I  mean  Chris 
— to  take  you  three  round."  And  he  smiled  at  that  indi- 
vidual. 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Chris.  "Come  on,  then,  let's  go. 
Cigarettes?  No?  Well,  I  will  anyway." 

The  four  of  them  wandered  off  together  and  for  a  while 
walked  in  a  body.  They  peered  into  sundry  iron- faced  stores 
with  lounging  natives  at  the  doors,  laughed  at  the  Town  Hall, 
stood  to  watch  the  arrival  of  four  wagons  from  Basutoland, 
and  then,  at  Chris's  suggestion,  climbed  a  bit  of  the  way  up 
a  little  kopje  at  the  back  of  the  town  to  get  some  idea  of 
their  road  on  the  morrow.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen,  a  small 
dusty  track  winding  away  out  of  the  iron  roofs  and  barbed 
wire-enclosed  gardens  of  the  dorp  into  the  lands  and  veld 
beyond.  There  it  dipped  for  some  small  spruit,  and  then 
climbed  a  rise  in  the  landscape  and  disappeared  beyond. 
After  a  few  miles  it  could  be  made  out  again,  so  they  lifted 
their  eyes  from  the  plain  and  looked  up  to  where,  some 
twenty  miles  away,  the  great  range  shot  its  crags  and  peaks 
into  the  still  air.  The  mountains  were  already  purpling  for 
the  sun-set.  Golden  still  where  the  sun  fell  on  them,  black 
in  the  shadows  and  brown  below,  their  summits  were  even 
now  washed  with  violet  and  blue  tints.  Calm,  serene,  seem- 
ingly illimitable,  they  sentineled  the  whole  horizon.  The 
four  of  them  found  some  rocks  on  which  to  sit  and  watch, 
and  silence  fell  on  them. 

Pamela  broke  it.  "I  long  to  be  there,"  she  said.  "I  some- 
times wish  I  could  live  there  always,  but  we  cannot  live  in 
fairy-land.  We  can  see  it  only.  Besides,  up  there,  it  would 
not  seem  to  be  fairy-land  any  more  and  one  would  not  even 
wish  to  stay.  That  is  the  rule  in  life,  I  suppose.  Dreams 
are  but  dreams,  and  they  never  come  true." 

"Best  not  to  go  then,"  said  the  practical  Gwen. 

"Oh  no,"  replied  Pamela  quickly.  "Maybe  our  dreams 
are  the  better  part  of  life.  And  besides  it  is  very  good  on 
the  Berg.  One  gets  such  a  sense  of  one's  own  littleness. 


204  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

It's  all  so  silent  and  big.  The  native  lands  are  only  tiny 
patches  here  and  there  on  the  great  slopes,  and  their  huts 
little  temporary  shelters  on  the  bosom  of  nature.  That  is 
all.  Man  is  just  nothing  up  there.  It  is  as  if  a  breath  of 
wind  might  blow  him  away,  and  in  a  generation  there  would 
scarcely  be  a  trace  that  he  had  been  there." 

"Yet  according  to  you,"  said  Cecil,  looking  at  Chris,  "men 
have  mastered  the  world." 

"They  have  in  a  sense,"  he  said.  "But  Pamela's  right. 
I  can't  take  the  other  side  to-night.  After  all,  our  science 
has  but  touched  the  borderland  of  the  Unknown.  It  has  lit 
a  lamp — that's  something  truly,  but  the  light  chiefly  serves 
to  reveal  the  darkness." 

Below  them  lights  were  beginning  to  twinkle  in  windows 
and  served  to  illustrate  his  words.  The  four  of  them  grew 
silent,  watching  them.  Then  Gwen  spoke  again.  "And 
what  of  the  darkness  ?"  she  said. 

Chris  did  not  reply  at  once.  Then  he  turned  to  her  with 
a  smile.  "Do  you  want  a  lecture?"  he  asked. 

"I'll  put  up  with  one,"  she  retorted,  "if  the  others  don't 
mind." 

Pamela  sighed,  mockingly.  "I  know  Chris,"  she  said. 
"He  can't  help  it  occasionally." 

"Well,"  said  Chris,  reaching  out  his  hand  and  picking  up 
a  stone.  "Look  at  this.  The  other  day  it  was  just  a  stone, 
no  more.  Now  we  know  it  is  a  mass  of  electrons,  and  in 
them  is  that  very  same  energy  that  makes  the  world  and 
drives  the  planets  round  the  sun.  But  what  is  it?  Whose 
energy  is  it?  What  is  it  all  for?  If  we  could  only  answer 
one  question  completely — just  one — it  would  be  something 
to  go  upon.  But  there  is  no  answer.  From  this  stone  in 
my  hand  to  the  uttermost  limits  of  the  stars,  mystery,  mys- 
tery. That  is  all." 

"And  reality?"  queried  Pamela. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Probably  what  we  think  we 
feel  and  know  is  all  one  vast  illusion.  Not  necessarily  un- 
true, though.  Only  probably  the  truth,  could  we  see  it  and 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  205 

know  it,  would  be  so  different  from  what  we  perceive  that 
we  should  realise  that  the  world  as  we  see  it  is  chiefly  our 
own  imagination." 

"You  make  my  brain  reel,"  said  Gwen,  "only  I  don't 
half  understand  what  you  mean.  Things  seem  real  enough 
to  me." 

"Well,"  said  Pamela,  ignoring  her,  "and  what  then  of  the 
Berg,  Chris?" 

"Oh,"  he  said,  "the  Berg  is  grim,  solid,  naked,  to  my 
seeing.  I  know  that  it  deceives  me,  like  all  else,  with  its 
pretended  reality,  but  it  can  deceive  me  as  nothing  else  can. 
I  feel  as  if  on  it  I  could  throw  speculation  to  the  winds. 
I  am  at  least  a  man.  I  can  battle  and  grasp  what  I  want, 
or  die.  A  fig  for  yesterday,  and  for  to-morrow!  I  have 
at  least  to-day.  I  may  be  dust,  but  I  am  living  dust — to-day. 
Let  me  be  beaten  by  the  rain  and  whipped  by  the  wind  and 
kissed  by  the  sun,  but  my  heart  beats  through  it  all.  I  will 
live  for  my  brief  moment  and  snatch  it  from  eternity,  and 
then  I  will  fall  up  there,  on  that  grim  face  of  rock,  and 
Nature  can  do  what  she  please^  with  my  dust.  Mould  a 
star  or  fashion  worms — it  will  be  all  one  then.  But  now  is 
struggle,  passion,  love."  And  he  ended  abruptly. 

"What  about  your  soul?"  asked  Gwen  coolly. 

Chris  looked  at  her,  smiling.  "Have  I  one?"  he  said, 
perhaps  to  see  what  she  would  say. 

"Oh  yes,"  she  said,  "of  course  you  have.  Could  dust 
struggle,  feel  passion,  love?" 

Chris  picked  up  his  stone  again  and  held  it  out  to  her. 
"This,"  he  said,  "is  certainly  struggling.  One  does  not 
credit  an  electron  with  consciousness,  but  that  is  perhaps 
because  we  view  ourselves  out  of  all  proportion.  Insects 
certainly  have  passion.  What  is  love?" 

"It  was  you  who  named  it,"  said  Gwen.  "You  ought 
to  know." 

Chris  weighed  his  stone  meditatively  in  his  hand,  and 
then  cast  it  away.  "Let's  go,"  he  said  shortly. 

In  descending,  they  separated  into  couples,  and  Chris  and 


206  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Cecil  brought  up  the  rear.  "Dear,"  he  said  as  soon  as  they 
were  sufficiently  far  behind,  "I  have  scarcely  had  a  word  with 
you  all  day." 

"Have  you  not  ?"•  she  replied.  "Well,  you  have  had  plenty 
of  words  just  now.  So  you  do  not  know  what  love  is, 
Chris." 

He  started.  "Little  Eve,"  he  said,  "don't  say  that.  I 
know  that  I  love  you ;  I  said  nothing  in  denial  of  that.  If 
you  press  me,  I  don't  know  perhaps  what  this  love  is  that 
I  feel,  but  I  know  that  I  feel  it.  Even  if  it  is  not  what  it 
seems,  it  is  something  real  enough,  God  knows.  Oh  Cecily, 
you  don't  doubt  that  I  love  you,  do  you?  It  is  cruel  of  you. 
You  give  me  no  chance.  If  I  had  you  alone  for  a  few 
minutes  I  could  teach  you  how  much  and  how  truly  I  love 
you.  Darling,  don't  hurry  now.  Wait  back  a  bit.  If  the 
others  get  on,  we  may  have  just  the  tiniest  chance  for  a  kiss. 
A  day  without  a  kiss  seems  hopeless  to  me  now.  That's 
what  you've  done  to  me,  you  Eve  you !" 

But  she  did  not  look  at  him  and  she  did  not  slacken  her 
pace.  He  tried  to  look  into  her  face,  but  could  not,  and  her 
remoteness  seemed  to  him  a  colossal  thing,  overwhelming 
everything.  In  despair,  he  caught  for  a  moment  at  her  hand, 
his  eyes  on  the  backs  of  the  two  in  front. 

At  that  the  little  gloved  fingers  pressed  his  and  she  turned 
her  head  to  look  at  him.  There  were  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"Oh  Cecily,  Cecily,"  he  cried.  "What  is  it?  What  have 
I  done?" 

"Nothing,  Chris,"  she  said,  "and  besides  I  can't  put  it 
into  words.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  beginning  to  see  what 
a  woman  is.  You  doubt  your  own  soul,  you  ask  questions 
about  love,  but  a  woman  does  neither.  She  cannot.  She 
knows.  Perhaps  you  think  I  know  no  better  because  I  can 
explain  nothing,  but  I  feel,  Chris.  There's  something 
awakened  in  me  that  seems  millions  of  years  old.  When 
you  talk  like  that  1  feel  as  if  you  were  just  a  child,  a  boy 
growing  old  enough  to  be  a  bit  daring  and  break  things 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  207 

wilfully  in  an  endeavour  to  see  their  works.  Oh  how  I  love 
you,  Chris,  but  I  want  to  mother  you  to-day,  you  big  silly 
stupid  man!" 

They  walked  some  yards  before  he  replied.  In  truth  he 
could  scarcely  do  so.  When  he  did,  he  showed  her  instantly 
what  he  felt.  "And  I,  Eve  dear,"  he  said  deliberately, 
"would  give  all  knowledge  and  the  whole  world  and  my 
own  life  also  if  I  could  lie  with  my  head  in  your  lap  and  let 
you  mother  me.  Do  you  suppose  anything  matters  beside 
that?" 

Cecil  reached  out  her  hand  to  him  this  time.  "Oh,"  she 
cried,  "what  a  muddle  it  all  is  after  all !  Do  you  know,  as 
you  say  that,  I  realise  suddenly  that  that  would  not  content 
me?"  She  dropped  her  voice  a  little.  "When  you  think 
you  are  strong,  Chris,  then  I  feel  that  you're  very  weak  and 
I  want  to  mother  you,  but  the  moment  you  submit  and  are 
weak,  instantly  I  don't  want  to  mother  you  at  all !  There  is 
something  in  me  that  seems  to  say  that  you  must  not  be 
weak  and  that  I  must  not  allow  you  to  be.  Chris,  will  you 
hate  me?  Will  you  think  it  an  awful  thing  for  me  to  say? 
But  I  cease  to  want  to  mother  you;  I  want  instead  to  be 
mother  of  your  child." 

The  man's  hand  holding  hers  gripped  so  strongly  at  that 
that  she  feared  she  must  cry  out.  "Cecil,"  he  said,  "I  will 
tell  you  what  I  think.  Never  have  I  heard  a  woman  say  a 
holier,  purer,  more  wonderful  thing.  And  never  have  I 
understood  for  a  moment  before  what  it  might  mean  to  have 
a  child." 

"Haven't  you?"  said  Cecil,  so  low  that  he  hardly  heard. 
"Well,  Chris,  I  don't  know  that  I  have  either.  I  never 
thought  of  it  when  I  married  Hugh — at  least,  that  is, 
although  I  knew  it  was  a  thing  that  happened,  I  never  wanted 
it  much.  I  don't  know  that  I  wanted  anything  much.  Do 
you  know  I  once  talked  to  Pam  about  it,  and  she  horrified 
me  by  what  she  said.  Love  seemed  to  me  an  easy  and 
pleasant  thing,  but  there  was  no  passion  in  it.  I  didn't 


208  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

understand  what  it  would  be  to  have  a  lover,  or  to  be  a  lover 
either.  But  now,  oh  now  I  know." 

"Eve,  Eve  all  the  time,"  said  Chris  smiling,  but  with  his 
eyes  afire.  "But  surely  that  just  settles  it,  doesn't  it?"  he 
asked  her.  "I  won't  press  you  now,  darling ;  we've  got  three 
weeks  of  trek  ahead  of  us ;  but  you  know  you  can't  fight  fate. 
You  are  my  mate,  Cecily ;  that's  why  you  feel  like  that.  And 
I  love  that  word.  It's  a  big  strong  word,  with  no  shams 
about  it.  And  it's  the  naked  truth,  darling,  about  you  and 
me." 

The  path  entered  a  little  growth  of  pines  here,  and  under 
their  evergreen  boughs  the  shadows  clustered  thickly.  The 
others  were  on  ahead,  and  here  then  he  stayed  her.  "One 
kiss,  Eve  dearest,"  he  begged ;  "one  kiss." 

She  peered  forward.  "It's  madness,"  she  whispered; 
"suppose  we  were  seen  ?"  And  yet  with  the  very  words  she 
flung  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  hung  on  his  lips  as  if  to 
drink  his  life.  As  suddenly  she  released  him.  "Chris,"  she 
said,  "if  I  were  sure  the  ship  would  sink,  I'd  run  off  with 
you  this  night  to  Durban  and  we'd  take  the  first  mail  away 
to  anywhere.  If  I  were  sure  it  would  sink,  Chris.  I  could 
die  with  you,  my  darling,  but  God  knows  if  I  can  live  with 
you."  And  she  turned  swiftly  and  hurried  out  of  the  trees. 

They  caught  the  others  up,  and  without  any  apparent  plan, 
Pamela  and  Cecil  were  soon  leading,  the  other  two  following. 
Gwen  had  a  sudden  impulse  of  friendship  towards  the  man 
at  her  side,  coupled  with  a  sense  of  fearlessness.  She  pushed 
her  hand  into  his  arm,  and  he  glanced  down  at  her,  not  a 
little  surprised.  She  met  his  eyes  frankly  and  laughed. 

"Chris,"  she  said, — "it's  really  rather  fun  to  call  you  Chris 
— I'm  so  happy.  I  can't  help  it.  We  are  going  to  have  a 
glorious  time,  aren't  we  ?  I  wish  I  knew  why  I  felt  so  hugely 
bucked  all  at  once.  Perhaps  it's  this  perfect  evening.  Even 
this  ugly  tin  town  looks  jolly,  doesn't  it?  with  the  lights  in 
the  windows  and  that  glorious  smell  of  liso  *  fires  some- 
where blowing  ever  so  faintly  across  one's  face.  And  we're 

*  Lisa    (Sesuto),   dried  dung. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  209 

going  to  have  a  scrumptious  dinner,  a  humorous  evening, 
and  to-morrow  the  first  day  of  my  first  real  experience  of 
a  ride  out  into  the  wilds.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  still  sixteen. 
Do  you  ever  feel  like  that?" 

Her  enthusiasm  infected  him.  "You  make  me,"  he  said. 
"Gwen,  I  wish  we  were  all  sixteen.  But  we'll  pretend  that 
we  are — if  we  can,"  he  added.  "Look  here,  let's  race  to  the 
hotel  by  a  back  way  and  be  drinking  sun-downers  by  the 
time  the  others  appear." 

"Splendid,"  she  cried.     "I  know  the  way.     Round  here." 

The  two  fled  swiftly  through  the  dusty  straight  streets, 
crossed  waste  bits  of  land  and  at  least  one  back  yard,  and 
found  themselves  in  the  rear  courtyard  of  the  hotel.  A  man 
was  emerging  from  the  stables.  Gwen  darted  up  to  him. 
"Come  on,  Hugh,"  she  cried  breathlessly.  "Chris  and  I  have 
left  the  others  walking  along  as  if  they  were  in  Durban. 
Come  to  the  stoep  and  let's  be  having  drinks  when  they 
arrive." 

Hugh  shot  an  amused  glance  at  Chris,  but  he  quickened 
his  pace  and  smiled  at  his  sister-in-law.  "Three  years  in 
England  haven't  made  much  difference  to  you,"  he  said. 

Gwen  flushed  suddenly  in  the  dark.  "Oh  yes,  they  have," 
she  retorted.  "I've  grown  up  all  right,  Hugh.  I've  learnt 
all  my  lessons — that  it's  no  good  crying  at  life  among  them. 
And  I've  learned  to  take  a  weak  whisky  and  soda.  So  go 
and  order  it  quickly." 

She  and  Chris  seated  themselves  in  long  comfortable  chairs 
and  were  joined  by  Hugh  with  the  drinks  in  a  few  minutes. 
There  the  others  found  them.  Pamela  and  Cecil  stood  to- 
gether on  the  steps  of  the  hotel  against  the  faint  glow  of 
the  dying  day  across  the  open  square,  and  a  smile  was  playing 
on  Cecil's  face.  The  two  were  a  curious  contrast.  Pamela 
looked  reserved,  and  something  about  her  suggested  strength 
and  loneliness ;  Cecil,  one  arm  on  her  friend's  shoulder  and 
the  other  swinging  her  hat,  had  an  almost  lazy  look  of  con- 
tent about  her.  Her  eyes  wandered  from  one  to  the  other 
of  the  two  men,  and  she  seemed  to  both  altogether  desirable. 


2io  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "you  beasts!  And  I'm  dead  tired.  Hugh, 
do  get  me  a  drink  too." 

"You  shouldn't  have  gone  so  far,  my  darling,"  he  said. 
"You'll  only  tire  yourself  out  before  our  real  trek  begins." 

"Oh  don't  scold,  Hugh,"  she  said,  "and  besides  it's  too 
late  now.  Fetch  me  a  drink  instead  or  I  shall  ask  Ulysses. 
That,  by  the  way,  is  what  Pamela  and  I  have  settled  to  call 
that  lazy  creature  on  your  right,  Gwen,  who  makes  no  effort 
to  get  me  a  chair." 

Both  rebuked  men  sprang  up  to  her  bidding.  Chris  drew 
a  chair  up  and  deliberately  placed  it  near  his  own  and  their 
eyes  met  in  the  light  of  the  opening  bar  door,  whither  Hugh 
was  disappearing  for  the  drinks.  There  was  an  almost 
sensuous  challenge  in  hers  which  he  met  by  a  sudden  resump- 
tion of  that  cool  manner  of  his  which  she  had  noticed  in 
Durban.  Each  had  that  sense  of  familiarity  again,  but  now 
they  were  aware  of  a  mutual  consciousness  of  it.  Pamela, 
meanwhile,  had  seized  a  cushion  from  a  chair  and  had  seated 
herself  on  it  at  the  top  of  the  steps,  half  turned  away  from 
them,  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Why  Ulysses?"  demanded  Gwen. 

"Because  he  wandered  so  much,  of  course,"  said  Cecil. 

"My  dear  Ces,"  said  her  sister,  "you  never  thought  of  that. 
You  can't  kid  me.  But  it  fits  in  somehow."  And  Ulysses 
Chris  became  in  the  common  talk  of  the  party. 

Dinner  was  an  uproarious  meal.  They  were  the  only 
guests,  and  inclined  to  be  merry  at  the  expense  of  the  hotel. 
The  dining-room,  walled  as  well  as  ceiled  with  ceiling  boards, 
yellow  and  fly-blown,  boasted  two  or  three  crude  pictures, 
some  strips  of  looking  glass  painted  with  flowers,  and  a 
corner  bracket  with  a  bowl  of  paper  roses.  The  oil  lamp 
above  them,  with  its  tin  shade  and  guard  and  staring  light, 
had  rarely  shone  on  a  gayer  party.  Hugh  entirely  forgot 
the  cares  of  this  world,  and  it  was  Eldred  who  insisted  on 
champagne.  Afterwards  Gwen  vamped  on  a  piano  in  the 
corner  and  they  sang  every  song  or  bit  of  a  song  that  they 
could  think  of.  Then  they  cleared  the  room  and  danced. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  211 

Mine  host  was  invited  in,  and  with  African  camaraderie 
made  gay  with  them.  The  three  girls  went  off  to  bed 
together,  and  laughed  and  joked  themselves  into  the  sheets 
and  pretty  soon  to  sleep.  It  was  an  auspicious  evening  for 
their  first. 

The  start  in  the  morning  was  a  great  event.  The  stoep 
was  littered  with  saddles  and  packs,  and  the  horses,  fetched 
from  the  stables,  were  fastened  to  its  wooden  posts  in  groups. 
One  by  one  they  were  led  apart  from  their  mates  for  a 
couple  of  boys  to  saddle  and  pack,  Hugh  and  Eldred  busy 
with  advice  and  caution,  tightening  a  strap  here  and  there, 
balancing  bags  and  generally  supervising.  Chris  did  what 
he  could,  but  he  did  not  know  the  ropes  as  the  other  two. 
So  presently  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  joined  the  girls  to  watch. 

At  last  the  train  was  set  in  motion,  and  with  cries  and 
crackings  of  whips  set  off.  The  pack  horses  led  the  way, 
and  an  old  grey  pony  of  Eldred's  plainly  knew  the  road  and 
proposed  to  be  leader.  He  put  back  his  ears  and  bit  out 
at  any  animal  that  tried  to  pass  him,  taking  the  route  to  the 
Nek  as  soon  as  the  natives  got  him  within  sight  of  it.  The 
others  followed,  neighing,  tossing  their  heads  and  swishing 
their  tails.  The  police  orderly  brought  up  Sinclair's  horse, 
but  he  himself  went  for  his  wife's.  Gwen  naturally  fell  to 
Chris,  Pamela  to  Eldred.  In  a  little  knot  together  they 
finally  rode  off,  the  orderly  bringing  up  the  rear.  The  spirit 
of  adventure  settled  upon  all  of  them,  and  Pamela  hit  it  off 
to  Mr.  Eldred.  "The  soul  of  our  nomadic  forefathers," 
she  said,  "lives  in  all  of  us  yet." 

"Come  on,"  said  Hugh,  at  the  end  of  a  mile  or  so,  "let's 
get  in  front  of  the  packs  now.  They're  going  all  right  and 
there's  no  danger  of  their  missing  the  road.  I  mostly  believe 
in  keeping  my  packs  in  front  of  me  in  the  mountains,"  he 
added  to  Chris.  "One  can  see  if  anything  goes  wrong,  and 
it  doesn't  do  to  out-distance  them  too  far ;  but  here  it  will  be 
pleasanter  ahead  and  out  of  the  dust." 

They  cantered  away  together,  dropping  into  a  gallop  on 
some  smooth  turf  by  the  edge  of  a  land  to  pass  the  caravan. 


212  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

The  old  grey  obviously  resented  this,  taking  up  the  pace  gal- 
lantly despite  his  age  and  burden,  but  they  were  too  quick 
for  him.  When  they  took  the  road  again,  Chris  and  Cecil 
were  leading. 

"Have  you  been  up  here  before?"  he  asked  her. 

"Yes,  but  only  in  a  car,"  she  said.  "Then  we  had  to  stick 
to  the  road,  but  to-day  we  can  take  a  good  many  short-cuts. 
There's  one — see  ? — straight  on  where  the  road  winds,  across 
that  stream  and  up  under  that  kopje.  Oh,  Chris,  isn't  it  a 
glorious  morning?" 

He  glanced  back  cautiously  to  see  if  the  others  were  out 
of  earshot,  and  then  replied.  "Lovely,  darling,"  he  said. 
"I'd  like  to  ride  with  you  like  this  to  the  world's  end.  1 
love  to  see  you  in  riding  kit.  You  look  such  a  girl,  Cecily." 

She  threw  him  a  look.  "You  say  those  things  too  easily. 
It  means  long  practice,  I  fear." 

"Oh  I  say,  now  don't  begin  that,"  he  cried.  "You  really 
mustn't.  I  thought  we'd  finished  with  such  things.  And 
I  get  no  chance  of  stopping  you,  especially  on  ahead  of  the 
others  like  this.  When  we  climb  up  that  path  far  ahead, 
will  you  drop  to  the  rear,  my  Eve?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  but  she  smiled  and  he  did  not 
doubt  that  she  would. 

On  and  on,  ever  nearer  to  the  peaks  ahead,  they  mounted. 
The  wind  sang  in  their  ears;  the  shadows  of  little  clouds 
chased  each  other  across  the  hill-sides.  At  times  they  rode 
for  some  miles  over  open  country,  keeping  well  together; 
at  another,  the  path  skirted  a  stream  and  climbed  over  a 
stony  rise  and  they  had  to  string  out.  At  last  they  entered 
a  valley.  Chris  and  Hugh  were  behind  here,  and  the  latter 
turned  in  his  saddle  to  look  back. 

"This  is  the  entrance  to  the  Pass,"  he  said.  "It's  a  slow 
game  going  up,  but  it's  the  Pass  all  right.  Where  are  those 
packs?  Oh  yes,  coming  on.  See  those  two  peaks  ahead? 
Well,  we  go  through  them.  There's  the  first  sugar-bush. 
It  grows  up  the  sides  of  the  valley  all  the  way." 

"Where's  the  wagon  road?"  queried  Chris. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  213 

"Away  to  the  left.  We  shall  join  it  later  on.  Look  back; 
you  can  see  it  almost  all  the  way  to  the  dorp  from  here. 
And  that's  the  last  you'll  see  of  Matatiele.  I  wonder  what 
we  have  before  us  before  we  see  that  again." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Chris.  It  was  as  well  that  was  all  either 
of  them  could  do. 

But  it  was  so.  They  had  been  steadily  mounting,  and 
were  now  a  thousand  feet  or  more  above  the  level  of  Mata- 
tiele. The  plain  between  them  and  it  looked  as  flat  as  a 
pancake  despite  the  ups  and  downs  they  knew  were  there. 
Before,  the  road  was  at  last  visible  again,  serpentining  up 
from  the  left  and  disappearing  ahead  in  the  folds  of  the 
mountains.  Soon  they  were  on  it,  and  began  now  to  follow. 
At  times  there  was  a  steep  fall  on  the  right  from  the  very 
edge  to  the  tumbling  water  of  a  stream  far  below,  and  at 
times  a  regular  wall  of  rock  towered  up  on  their  left-hand 
side.  Every  half-mile  saw  the  valley  narrow  and  steepen. 
Again  and  again  one  would  swear  that  the  rise  in  front  was 
the  summit,  but  it  never  seemed  to  be  when  one  was  there. 
No  huts  were  visible,  but  on  a  sudden  turn  they  came  at 
length  on  a  dozen  convicts  working  on  the  road  with  an 
armed  native  escort.  Prisoners  and  guard  seemed  on 
friendly  terms,  and  all  smiled  at  the  white  people.  The 
guard  however  saluted,  and  Eldred  remarked  to  Chris  that 
the  presence  of  the  party  meant  that  the  camp  was  not  so  far 
off  now.  Indeed  just  here  was  a  wire  fence,  a  narrow  strip 
of  a  thing,  skirting  their  road  and  running  across  the  face 
of  the  mountains  to  the  left. 

"The  boundary  of  Basutoland,"  said  Hugh. 

Cecil  whipped  up  her  pony.  "Come  on,"  she  called, 
"Round  the  bend  is  the  gate." 

Chris  and  Hugh  rode  up  to  her  on  either  side,  and  the 
three  abreast  they  swept  round  the  corner.  There,  ahead, 
on  an  open  platform  as  it  were,  was  their  fence  with  great 
open  gates  in  it,  a  couple  of  huts  on  the  farther  side,  and 
three  wagons  out-spanned  on  the  trampled  and  bare  ground 
nearer  to  them.  "The  gate !"  cried  Cecil  again. 


214  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

The  three  raced  up  and  through  it,  the  police  guard  salut- 
ing again,  entered  together  and  drew  up  on  the  road  beyond. 
A  superb  panorama  lay  before  them.  Away  to  the  south- 
west stretched  a  wide  valley,  soaring  mountains  on  either 
hand,  until  it  appeared  to  meet  another  coming  from  north. 
Beyond  the  junction  nothing  was  visible  but  tumbled  moun- 
tain masses,  with  great  rifts,  fantastic  spurs  and  crags,  and 
noble  faces  of  grass  and  rock.  From  their  feet  the  ground 
fell  unevenly  to  a  narrow  plain  broken  by  rocks  and  minia- 
ture valleys,  with  a  river  flashing  here  and  there  among  the 
few  trees  that  guarded  it.  To  their  right,  the  road  wound 
down  between  newly  planted  enclosures  of  young  firs  and 
pines,  twisted  to  the  left,  and  disappeared  to  the  right  again 
by  a  towering  castle  of  sheer  rock. 

"Where's  the  camp  ?"  demanded  Chris,  looking  about  him, 
for  there  was  no  house  in  sight. 

"You'll  see  it,  once  we're  round  that  rock  there,"  answered 
Cecil.  "That's  the  golf  course  down  there,  and  that  field 
is  the  hospital — or  where  it  is  to  be  anyway.  Round  that 
corner  you'll  see  the  houses." 

The  others  joined  them,  and  reined  up  as  they  had  done. 
Chris  leant  towards  Cecil.  "Don't  let's  wait,"  he  said. 
"Lead  on  with  me." 

She  glanced  at  her  husband  and  the  rest.  Then,  flicking 
her  pony  with  her  whip,  she  called  to  him.  "Good-bye, 
Hugh.  I'm  going  on  with  Ulysses.  I'm  dying  to  be  there," 

Hugh  shouted  a  caution,  but  they  were  already  away. 
They  did  not  speak,  but  rode  neck  and  neck,  the  horses  de- 
lighting in  the  race  and  plainly  realising  that  the  camp  lay 
ahead.  Exultation  shot  through  Cecil  and  she  threw  care 
to  the  winds.  "On,  on,  on,"  she  called  to  her  companion. 
"Side  by  side  into  the  mountains!  Isn't  it  jolly,  Chris? 
Don't  pull  up  to  talk." 

Round  the  bend,  along  the  straight,  hoofs  pounding  on  the 
thick  turf ;  past  the  young  trees,  past  a  native  or  two,  round 
the  rock  at  last.  The  camp  burst  on  their  view.  There, 
then,  Cecil  slowed  down  a  little,  riding  at  an  easy  canter, 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  215 

health  radiating  from  her,  her  cheeks  flushed  with  the  exer- 
cise, her  eyes  alight  for  him.  She  pointed  out  the  houses 
with  her  riding  whip.  "Those  are  the  Government  offices, 
dear,"  she  said — "see,  that  cluster  of  buildings  in  the  trees 
to  the  left.  The  doctor's  house  is  opposite.  .  .  .  This  is  the 
Residency;  up  here  on  the  right  That's  the  new  church 
they're  just  building.  .  .  .  That's  the  gaol,  and  those  huts 
up  the  valley  are  the  police  quarters.  .  .  .  That's  the  Mal- 
lorys'  place,  round  the  corner,  first  house  among  the  trees. 
That's  their  stable  across  the  road  on  our  left.  Those  are 
stores  down  there,  and — oh,  look,  there's  Mr.  Mallory,  com- 
ing to  the  gate!" 

"Do  you  like  him,  Cecil?"  asked  Chris  hurriedly. 

"Oh  he's  a  dear,"  she  said.  "He  danced  with  me  so  nicely 
at  the  ball  in  Matatiele  the  year  I  was  married.  We  sat  out 
afterwards  in  the  garden  and  he  was  perfectly  charming. 
Only  I  was  too  full  of  Hugh,  then,  to  think  much  about  it." 

"Well,  don't  be  too  nice  to  him  now,  Eve,  will  you?" 
begged  Chris.  "Think  of  me.  Spare  me  a  look  sometimes 
that  other  people  don't  get" 

"You  get  too  much  already,"  she  said,  laughing. 

"But  I  haven't  had  a  proper  kiss  to-day,"  he  replied. 

There  was  no  time  for  her  to  answer.  Cecil  reined  in 
her  pony,  and  the  tall  man  advanced  from  the  gate  to  shake 
hands  with  her  and  help  her  to  dismount  "How  do  you  do, 
Mrs,  Sinclair,"  he  said.  "Where's  everybody  else?  We  are 
expecting  a  dozen  or  so  of  you!" 

"Oh  they're  coming,"  she  said  laughing.  "Mr.  Ashurst 
and  I  rode  on.  We've  had  a  heavenly  ride.  May  I  intro- 
duce you — Mr.  Ashurst,  Mr.  Mallory.  Oh  there's  Mrs. 
Mallory!"  And  she  left  the  men  together. 

The  whole  party  arrived  soon  after,  and  most  of  the  camp 
appeared  to  turn  out  to  see  them.  There  was  much  talking 
and  laughter  and  unpacking  and  stabling  to  be  seen  to,  and 
then  Mr.  Eldred  and  Gwen  walked  over  to  the  Residency 
according  to  plan.  Mallory  went  with  them,  and  the  rest 
of  the  party  sat  talking  on  the  lawn  or  wandered  off  into  the 


216  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

garden.  It  did  not  take  much  scheming  for  Chris  and  Cecil 
to  find  themselves  separated  from  the  others.  At  the  end 
of  one  of  the  walks,  screened  by  apple  trees,  he  caught  her 
hand  and  brought  her  to  a  standstill. 

"Complete  my  day  for  me,  dearest,"  he  begged. 

She  glanced  round,  and  then  held  up  her  lips  for  his  kiss. 

The  act  had  a  kind  of  solemn  quietness  about  it  which  their 
kisses  had  not  had  before.  It  was  perhaps  the  serene 
beauty  of  that  garden,  or  the  silence  of  the  hills  which  al- 
ready wrapped  them  in.  Cecil  remained  standing  before 
him,  searching  deep  into  his  eyes.  "How  soon  would  you 
tire  of  that,  I  wonder?"  she  said. 

He  protested  it  would  be  never,  but  his  words  only  drew 
a  little  smile  about  her  mouth.  "Oh  Chris,"  she  said,  "I  feel 
centuries  old  again  to-night.  How  many  women  have  asked 
that  question,  and  how  many  men  have  made  that  answer,  do 
you  suppose?  Men,  I  think,  are  never  satisfied  for  long. 
Nor  would  you  be  with  me.  Women  are  built  differently 
somehow." 

Chris  dropped  his  eyes  before  her,  and  when  he  looked  up 
he  was  very  grave.  "Little  Eve,"  he  said,  "you  are  more 
right  than  you  know  perhaps.  Nature  makes  fools  of  us 
all.  But  tell  me,  can  you  honestly  say  that  that  is  the  last 
word?  Is  there  nothing  real,  nothing  lasting?  Is  there,  for 
it  comes  to  this,  no  such  thing  as  love  at  all?" 

She  shook  her  head,  without  words. 

"Nor  do  I  believe  it,"  he  said.  "There  is  something  deeper. 
We  continually  seek  it,  and  I  have  found  it  in  you." 

"How  do  you  know  ?"  she  persisted. 

"How  does  one  know  anything?"  he  retorted.  "What  did 
we  say  last  night?  Why,  you  cannot  even  ultimately  prove 
that  two  and  two  make  four,  but  maybe  Pascal  was  right  and 
all  true  knowledge  is  intuitive.  The  heart  has  its  reasons 
that  the  head  knows  not  of.  For  some  reason  or  another 
your  kisses  mean  more  to  me  than  other  kisses,  that  I  know. 
I  can  conceive  that  I  shall  kiss  other  women,  maybe  many 
other  women,  but  you  are  my  Eve.  There  will  not  be  an- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  217 

other  Eve,  no,  not  whatever  happens.  A  deep  in  me  calls 
to  a  deep  in  you,  and  I  believe  that  you  know  it." 

Cecil  fingered  his  jacket,  the  afternoon  sunlight  filtering 
through  the  leaves  and  falling  on  her,  the  earth  standing 
warm  and  firm  beneath  her  feet,  the  wind  of  its  motion  just 
stirring  her  hair.  Two  infinitesimal  atoms  in  inconceivable 
infinity,  they  both  of  them  looked  at  that  moment  on  the 
veiled  face  of  what  men  have  called  God.  And  if  neither 
understood,  both  had  some  kind  of  realisation  of  it. 

"You  are  right,  Chris,"  she  said.  "You  are  very  wonder- 
ful to  me,  dear.  You  know  so  much  more  than  I  do,  though 
that  is  not  saying  much,  but — if  I  can  explain  it — you  and 
you  only  have  brought  a  feeling  to  me  that  I  never  load 
before.  I  feel  with  you  as  if  great  infinite  gulfs  opened  up 
at  my  feet  and  I  peered  down  into  them.  And  I  think  you 
are  right;  there  is  that  by  instinct  between  us  which  men 
and  women  have  consecrated  by  marriage  down  all  time." 

"Then,  Cecil,"  said  Chris  gravely,  "it  only  remains  for  us 
to  take  our  destiny  in  both  hands  and  step  out  upon  it." 

"Does  it?"  she  queried.    "I  wonder." 

"How  can  you  wonder?"  he  begged.  "If  we  hesitate  we 
may  lose  all  that  makes  life  other  than  the  shadow  show  I 
told  you  I  have  found  it  until  now." 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,  Chris,"  she  said,  "you  mustn't 
say  that.  Surely  it  can  never  now  be  only  that.  Nothing 
can  in  a  sense  separate  us,  if  we  are  right.  Here  or  else- 
where, now  or  later,  how  can  we  say?  but  somewhere,  some- 
time, we  must  enter  into  the  life  that  is  to  be  lived  together. 
But  as  for  now,  I  don't  know.  You  forget  that  I  am  not 
alone  in  the  world,  Chris.  There  is  more  than  myself  to  be 
thought  of." 

"But  Hugh "  he  began. 

She  made  an  impatient  gesture.  "It's  not  he,  Chris.  You 
forget  a  bigger  person.  There's  Ronnie." 

Mrs.  Mallory  came,  calling  for  them  through  the  gardens. 


CHAPTER  VII 

HALF  the  charm  of  South  Africa  lies  in  its  variety.  A 
traveller  may  pass  in  a  few  hours  from  modern  city  to 
Boer  dorp,  from  homely  farm  to  native  kraal,  from  colonial 
homestead  to  Indian  settlement.  He  may  lose  himself  in 
forests,  struggle  through  bush,  wander  over  seemingly  illimit- 
able prairie,  or  risk  his  neck  in  rocky  mountain  fastnesses. 
He  may  fish  trout  in  Natal  and  think  he  is  in  Scotland,  or 
shoot  hippopotami  in  Zululand  and  be  sure  he  is  in  tropical 
Africa.  Basutoland,  on  the  Free  State  border,  is  amazingly 
like  southern  Spain;  and  one  might  open  one's  eyes  sud- 
denly in  Constantia  and  be  forgiven  for  mistaking  it  for 
Italy.  There  are  streets  in  Johannesburg  that  are  definitely 
English,  and  others  in  Bloemfontein  which  are  as  obviously 
Dutch.  A  newcomer  has  an  odd  feeling  that  he  doesn't 
know  where  he  is  or  what  he  will  be  expected  to  do  next; 
if  the  gentleman  about  to  enter  his  railway  carriage  will  be 
English  or  Continental,  learned  or  ignorant,  a  Boer  or  a 
baronet,  Western  or  Oriental.  He  may  turn  out  to  have  shot 
your  brother  in  the  siege  of  Ladysmith  and  fought  by  your 
side  on  the  Somme.  You  may  find  that  he  is  familiar  with 
every  yard  of  Piccadilly,  or  that  he  has  lived  for  three  years 
in  the  Karoo  without  a  rain  shower  and  with  scarcely  a  visi- 
tor. He  may  turn  out  to  be  a  Dutch  predikant,  an  English 
clergyman  with  the  Oxford  manner,  or  a  Trappist  monk. 
On  the  other  hand  he  may  be  an  American  missionary  en- 
gaged in  propagating  among  the  aborigines  of  Africa  a  re- 
ligion of  which  you  have  never  heard. 

But  South  Africa  can  offer  one  experience  at  least  which 
cannot  be  paralleled  anywhere  else  under  the  sun.  Yet  few 
know  of  it,  and  of  those  who  do,  few  realise  its  wonder  and 

218 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  219 

beauty.  A  week's  trek  on  the  Natal  border  of  Basutoland 
stands  by  itself  in  experiences,  and  such  a  trek  began 
in  earnest  for  Cecil,  Chris  and  the  rest  of  them  on  that  Sun- 
day morning  in  Qacha's  Nek. 

At  first  the  track  lay  out  of  the  camp,  over  a  shoulder  of 
mountain  which  soon  hid  all  traces  of  a  white  settlement, 
and  up  a  valley  that  smiled  and  sang  in  the  sun.  The  little 
path  wound  through  lands  of  mealies  and  Kaffir  corn  wherein 
flowered  scarlet  gladioli  like  poppies  in  East  Anglian  corn, 
and  crossed  and  re-crossed  a  crystal-clear  stream,  bordered 
with  blue  forget-me-not  and  yellow  ragwort,  that  laughed  its 
way  round  many  boulders  and  over  a  pebbly  bed.  Here  and 
there,  under  the  flanking  cliffs,  nestled  the  brown  huts  of 
native  villages  set  among  peach  trees  and  poplars.  Slow 
sleek  cattle  pastured  between  the  cultivated  patches,  watched 
by  brown  urchins-  who  fought  mimic  wars  with  dead  mealie 
stalks,  or  piped,  like  Greek  shepherds,  on  home-made  flutes. 
Then  it  reached  the  head  of  the  valley,  crossed  a  wide  stretch 
of  upland  grass  and  grey  stone  dotted  with  bleating  sheep, 
and  emerged  as  a  tiny  trail  that  ever  ascended  a  steep  moun- 
tain side  and  along  which  it  was  imperative  to  ride  in  single 
file.  As  it  rose  higher  and  higher,  the  unsurpassed  pano- 
rama opened  up — a  world  of  peaks  and  chains  of  peaks 
seen  across  a  river  valley  ten  to  fifteen  miles  wide,  which 
sloped  precipitously  from  the  very  path  on  which  they  rode. 

In  and  out,  in  and  out,  and  now  sharply  to  the  right,  and 
then  below  lies  Griqualand  and  far  Natal,  eight  thousand 
feet  below,  towns  and  hills  and  rivers  dwarfed  to  toy  things 
asleep  in  the  sun.  Now  the  Border  path  is  no  longer  pos- 
sible and  they  must  descend  towards  that  world  below. 
There  is  a  semi-tropical  vegetation  here — a  multitude  of 
wild  flowers;  sweet-scented,  strange-looking,  pink-flowered 
sugar  bush ;  high  lush  grasses ;  muddy  streams ;  and  thickets 
of  willow,  blue-gum  and  oak.  The  sun  streams  down,  and 
Cecil  wonders  if  Hugh  and  Mallory  riding  ahead  will  ever 
stop;  if  the  packs,  which  started  an  hour  before  them,  are 
never  to  be  found  off-saddled  for  a  midday  rest.  But  it 


220  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

comes  at  last.  They  wind  down  the  flank  of  a  steep  kopje 
to  a  river,  and  see  that  across  it  the  horses  are  being  freed, 
and  are  trotting  off  to  roll  in  the  grass  or  drink  at  the  stream 
while  all  their  impedimenta  is  spread  around. 

"Hungry,  Ces?"  queried  Mr.  Eldred,  who  found  him- 
self by  her  side. 

"No,"  she  said,  "or  at  least  I  don't  think  so,  but  I'm 
dying  for  tea,  and  I  want  to  get  out  of  this  saddle  and 
stretch  on  the  ground.  We  seem  to  have  been  riding  hours 
and  hours.  How  long  shall  we  rest  here?" 

"An  hour,"  said  her  father,  "and  not  a  moment  more.  I 
told  you  trekking  up  here  wasn't  all  a  picnic.  After  lunch 
we  must  do  three  hours  more  at  least." 

"Which  way  do  we  go?"  queried  Cecil.  "It's  a  wonder  to 
me  that  anyone  knows  the  road  at  all.  Sometimes  you  can 
hardly  see  a  path,  and  even  when  you  can,  it  is  usually  only 
one  of  half  a  dozen.  I  haven't  an  idea  whether  we're  riding 
north,  south,  east,  or  west.  Except  that  the  mountains  are 
in  Basutoland  and  they're  to  the  left  more  or  less,  I  shouldn't 
know  in  the  least  where  I  am." 

Eldred  laughed.  "The  boys  know,"  he  said,  "and  so  do 
Hugh  and  Mallory.  It's  easier  than  it  looks.  But  what 
comes  next,  I  don't  know.  Here's  Hugh;  he'll  tell  us." 

Hugh  was  waiting  for  them  by  the  stream,  in  a  khaki  shirt 
with  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  erect,  capable  and  vigorous. 

"Oh  Hugh,"  cried  Cecil,  "I  thought  we  were  never  going 
to  get  lunch.  Why  did  you  go  so  far  without  off-saddling  ?" 

"My  darling,  we  had  to.  We've  to  think  of  a  place  with 
water,  shade,  grass  and  no  lands  for  the  horses  to  get  into. 
But  come  on  over.  Then  up  there,  among  those  trees,  you'll 
find  a  perfect  place.  Gwen  and  Pam  have  gone  up  there 
already." 

"How  much  farther  to  the  store  you  spoke  of?" 

Hugh  turned  his  horse  and  stared  out  at  the  Range.  "See 
that  pinnacle  sticking  out  over  there?"  he  said.  "Well, 
Ramatseliso's  is  just  behind  it.  It's  a  couple  of  hours  or 
so,  up  the  pass,  from  here.  But  we  don't  sleep  there.  We 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  221 

must  push  on  an  hour  at  least  beyond.  I  don't  want  all 
this  outfit  mixed  up  around  the  store." 

Their  horses  stumbled  through  the  stream,  and  Chris,  who 
had  been  getting  out  stores,  came  up  before  Hugh  could  dis- 
mount to  hold  Cecil's  bridle  and  give  her  a  hand.  His  eyes 
were  alight  with  excitement  and  good  humour.  Off  and  on 
he  had  ridden  with  her  most  of  the  morning,  the  two  play- 
ing a  sort  of  game  of  their  own.  "That's  enough,"  she 
would  say;  "go  and  ride  with  Gwen  now."  Or  he  would 
range  up  alongside  and  the  two  of  them  discreetly  edge 
back  a  little,  "I've  been  with  Pamela  for  half  an  hour," 
he  would  declare,  "and  I  must  talk  to  you  now."  So  here 
he  was  to  help  her  dismount,  despite  Hugh.  "Oh,"  she  said 
wearily,  "I  am  tired.  Is  tea  nearly  ready?" 

But  Hugh  was  close  behind.  "Come,  my  darling,"  he 
said;  "I'll  show  you  the  way." 

He  led  her  off,  and  Chris  stood  for  a  moment  thinking. 
Then  he  spoke  to  his  own  boy  and  they  soon  had  another 
kettle  of  hot  water  ready.  This,  with  a  basin,  a  towel  and 
some  eau-de-cologne,  he  forthwith  carried  to  the  shady 
poplars. 

The  girls  had  found  an  ideal  place.  Big  roots  of  ancient 
trees  offered  armchairs,  and  the  ground  was  soft  and  mossy. 
The  poplar  leaves  rustled  in  the  breeze  around  them,  and 
through  their  screen  one  could  see  the  river  and  the  horses 
some  hundred  feet  below.  Cecil  was  lying  on  her  back, 
staring  up  at  the  green  shade  above,  Pamela  sitting  watch- 
ing her,  Gwen  swinging  half  up  a  tree.  Gwen  saw  him  come. 
"Ulysses!"  she  exclaimed,  "you  do  wander  to  some  advan- 
tage! How  perfectly  priceless.  Get  up  you  two  and  take 
the  things.  Warm  water  to  wash  in — think  of  that!  And 
is  the  skoff  nearly  ready,  Wanderer?" 

He  poured  out  the  water,  and  held  the  basin  a  moment  for 
Cecil  while  she  laved  her  hands.  She  smiled  slowly  at  him, 
and  his  hands  trembled  as  he  knelt  by  her  side.  That  was 
the  moment  of  the  whole  off-saddle  to  him. 

An  hour  later,  Hugh  got  to  his  feet  and  reached  for  his 


222  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

sjambok.  "Come,"  he  said ;  "get  a  move  on.  The  boys  are 
driving  in  the  horses,  and  we  may  as  well  start  ahead  of  the 
packs.  We  must  call  at  the  store,  and  they'll  catch  us  up 
there." 

"Hugh,"  declared  Cecil,  "I  can't  move.  I'm  too  happy 
for  words." 

"My  darling,"  he  began,  but  Mallory  interrupted  him,  get- 
ting up  himself,  showing  how  unusually  tall  he  was  with 
that  strong  face  of  his  and  what  Cecil  had  already  called  to 
Chris  (thereby  considerably  annoying  that  adventurer)  'un- 
derstanding' eyes  beneath  bushy  eyebrows. 

"Mrs.  Sinclair,"  he  said,  "I  understand  that  at  one  time 
this  expedition  talked  of  reaching  Mont  aux  Sources.  But 
it  won't  get  to  the  Tselike  if  it  goes  on  like  this." 

Cecil  laughed,  and  Gwen  sprang  over  and  caught  her  hand. 
"Get  up,  you  lazy  creature!"  she  cried. 

Mallory  put  on  his  somewhat  ancient  and  too  small  Irish 
tweed  deer-stalker  cap,  and  picked  up  the  kettle.  "It's  worth 
being  tired,"  he  said.  "Wait  till  to-night,  when  you  really 
ache,  but  when  you  can  sit  round  the  fire  and  not  move, 
while  the  stars  come  out  and  the  moon  gets  up." 

"Oh,  heavenly !"  cried  Cecil ;  and  the  whole  party  moved 
away. 

The  road  up  the  pass  to  the  store  is  a  wagon-road  running 
up  from  Griqualand.  It  serpentined  slowly  and  rather  an- 
noyingly,  and  Chris  found  himself  leading  with  Mallory. 
Hugh  had  stuck  tightly  to  his  wife  since  luncheon.  The  store 
itself  occasionally  appeared  in  view,  only  to  disappear  as  they 
dipped  again  or  skirted  round  another  corner.  It  was  a 
stark  iron  ugly  building  in  the  centre  of  a  space  of  trampled 
bare  earth  scattered  with  sheds,  wagons,  heaps  of  gear  and 
piles  of  grain  bags  and  wool-packs.  Behind  it  was  the  dwell- 
ing-house, standing  in  a  garden  of  young  pines  not  more  than 
shoulder  high  as  yet,  and  behind,  around,  beyond,  veld, 
mountain  and  more  veld. 

"Who  is  his  nearest  neighbour?"  asked  Chris. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  223 

"Well,"  said  Mallory,  "the  store  at  Sehlabathebe's,  I  sup- 
pose, but  there  is  nothing  much  to  go  there  for.  If  he  wants 
society,  he  has  to  come  to  camp  or  get  down  into  Griqua- 
land." 

"By  Jove,  it's  a  lonely  life,M  said  Chris. 

Mallory  tapped  his  leg  with  hig  riding-whip  and  looked 
thoughtful.  "It  is,"  he  said,  "but  it  altogether  depends  on 
the  man.  Old  Bartlow,  here,  is  jolly  enough,  as  you'll  see. 
You  see  he's  busy  all  the  day,  and  he  has  his  accounts  for 
the  evening.  Most  of  the  time,  the  place  hums  with  natives. 
But  the  extraordinary  thing  is  that  a  man  gets  used  to  it, 
and  pretty  soon  ceases  to  care  for  most  of  the  occupations 
which  you  would  think  he  wanted  to  help  him  out.  Many  of 
these  store-keepers  scarcely  read  a  book,  or,  if  they  do,  only 
the  trashiest  sort  of  novel.  Of  course  there  are  exceptions, 
but  look  round  when  we  get  in  here  and  see  what  you  see. 
It  shows  the  adaptability  of  human  nature.  Personally  I 
like  the  life.  I  spent  a  couple  of  years  at  Mokhotlong  once, 
which  is  a  good  deal  more  lonely  than  this,  and  enjoyed  it. 
One  has  one's  dogs,  some  shooting,  patrols  when  you  want 
exercise,  and  long  evenings  to  read  in,  over  a  roaring  fire. 
For  it  can  be  cold  up  there,  I  can  tell  you.  I've  seen  it  look 
like  an  Arctic  scene  for  weeks  on  end." 

"What  did  you  read  ?"  queried  Chris  interestedly. 

Mallory  laughed.  "Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  quite 
keen  just  then  on  Christian  Science  and  Psychology  gen- 
erally." 

Chris  whistled.  "Good  enough,"  he  said.  "We  must  have 
some  talks.  Lor,'  if  I'd  dropped  in  out  of  the  snow  and 
found  you  up  to  the  neck  in  Psychology !  I  should  have  been 
more  than  a  little  surprised." 

"There  can  be  surprising  exhibitions  of  human  nature 
even  at  Mokhotlong,"  said  Mallory,  and  could  not  know  that 
he  prophesied. 

They  rode  up  to  a  gate  in  the  boundary  fence  and  a 
native  came  running  with  a  key.  He  took  their  horses,  and 


224  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Mallory  led  the  way  to  the  store.  A  short  stout  white  man 
came  out  to  meet  them,  and  shook  Mallory's  hand  heartily. 
"Glad  to  see  you,"  he  said,  and  looked  at  Chris.  Mallory  in- 
troduced him.  "Glad  to  meet  you,"  he  said,  in  the  typical 
colonial  way. 

Chris  caught  Mallory's  eye  smiling  at  him,  and  as  Bart- 
low  went  forward  to  meet  the  others,  he  smiled  back  inter- 
rogatively. "I'm  never  quite  sure  what  one  ought  to  say 
to  that,"  he  said. 

"Try :  'Your  sentiments  do  you  credit/  "  said  Mallory, 
laughing.  "That,  at  least,  is  what  I'm  always  tempted  to 
say.  But  possibly  our  friend  would  not  catch  on." 

The  little  man  seemed  in  no  sense  perturbed  by  an  influx 
of  seven  visitors.  He  called  to  a  boy  to  make  tea  and  led 
the  way  into  his  sitting-room,  saying  cheerfully  to  Pamela, 
whom  he  appeared  to  take  for  Mrs.  Sinclair  owing  to  the 
general  nature  of  the  introductions  and  perhaps  because 
she  had  come  up  with  him,  that  he  was  delighted  to  see 
them.  Hugh,  as  usual,  was  waiting  with  an  eye  to  the  ar- 
rival of  the  packs.  Chris  and  Cecil  walked  up  the  path 
together. 

"What  a  quaint  little  place !"  she  exclaimed.  "How  would 
you  like  to  live  here?" 

"I  think  it  would  be  topping,"  he  replied,  "given  one  con- 
dition." 

"What's  that?"  she  demanded,  knowing  full  well  what  he 
would  say. 

"That  you  were  here  too,"  he  said.  "I  picture  it  a  para- 
dise— long  quiet  evenings,  just  you  and  I." 

Her  eyes  sparkled.  "You're  rather  a  dear,  Chris,"  she 
said.  "But,  to  be  honest,  it  wouldn't  suit  either  of  us.  I 
doubt  it  would  even  do  you  for  a  honeymoon.  No,  Chris, 
don't.  .  .  .  For  goodness'  sake,  take  care ;  Hugh  will  see." 

"I  shall  kiss  you  in  this  house,"  he  said,  challengingly. 
"What  do  you  bet?" 

"You  daren't,"  she  retorted,  and  they  entered  together. 

The  furniture  was  varnished  pine  and  green  plush.    The 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  225 

carpet  was  green  with  red  roses.  There  was  a  gramophone 
and  a  heap  of  dusty  novels,  a  piano  plainly  not  used,  and 
a  huge  disorderly  pile  of  newspapers  and  monthly  maga- 
zines. Bartlow  bustled  about,  finding  chairs. 

"Do  you  play,  Mrs.  Sinclair?"  he  demanded  of  Pamela, 
"If  so,  we  must  have  some  music  to-night.  I  like  a  piano, 
though  I  can't  play  it.  Looks  homely,  I  think." 

Gwen  exploded  into  her  handkerchief  and  pretended  to 
cough  violently.  "Is  your  cold  worse,  Gwen?"  asked  Chris 
instantly.  "I  must  rub  you  with  Elliman's  to-night." 

"Let  me  get  you  some  of  Wood's  Great  Peppermint  Cure, 
Mrs.  Ashurst,"  exclaimed  Bartlow.  "It's  excellent  stuff, 
and  I  always  keep  some  handy."  And  he  actually  hurried 
out  after  it,  before  anyone  could  stop  him. 

Gwen  collapsed.  Even  Pamela  burst  out  laughing,  try- 
ing to  say  something  coherent  about  the  mixture  of  per- 
sonalities there  would  be  that  night.  Cecil,  the  tears  run- 
ning down  her  face,  insisted  on  Chris  behaving.  Mallory, 
hugely  amused,  backed  him  up,  and  walking  to  the  gramo- 
phone, discovered  a  record  of  "To-night's  the  Night,"  which 
he  promptly  put  on.  Then  Hugh  came  in,  and  having 
missed  the  conversation,  was  considerably  mystified  and  in- 
clined to  be  annoyed.  "Really,  my  darling,"  he  said  to 
Cecil,  "you  must  take  care.  Bartlow  will  be  awfully  hurt." 

"Oh  Hugh,"  gasped  Cecil,  "I  really  can't  help  it.  For 
heaven's  sake  go  and  find  him.  If  he  comes  back  with  the 
medicine,  I  shall  die." 

But  he  did  not.  He  couldn't  find  it,  and  when  he  said  he 
would  look  again  later  on,  he  seemed  quite  dismayed  to 
learn  that  the  whole  party  were  not  going  to  camp  there  and 
invade  his  house.  "You  won't  find  hospitality  to  beat  this 
in  many  places,"  said  Mallory  aside  to  Chris,  and  the  latter 
agreed.  It  was  typical  of  the  country. 

Tea  came  in  a  diversity  of  cups,  and  at  length  Hugh  and 
Mallory  went  off  to  see  to  the  saddling  up  of  the  horses. 
Chris  was  searching  among  the  records.  Gwen  wanted  to 
see  if  she  could  get  some  toilet  article  she  had  forgotten 


226  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

from  the  store,  and  Eldred  went  with  her.  "Come  on," 
said  Pamela  to  the  others,  "we  must  go." 

"One  more  record,"  pleaded  Chris,  and  put  on  "The  Ro- 
sary." Pamela  fled  in  dismay. 

Cecil  rushed  over  to  take  it  oft*.  Chris  threw  his  arm  about 
her  and  kissed  her  lips.  "Thank  you,  Eve  of  all  Eves," 
he  said. 

"Oh  Chris,"  whispered  Cecil,  "if  Pam  had  seen!"  He 
kissed  her  again  promptly,  and  then  Pamela  was  heard  call- 
ing for  Cecil  outside.  She  ran  out  hastily.  Chris  followed, 
putting  a  small  plume  of  dried  and  stained  pampas  grass 
from  the  mantel- shelf  in  his  coat. 

Hugh  had  already  despatched  the  packs.  He  had  decided 
with  Mallory  to  camp  about  five  miles  on  at  the  head  of  a 
grassy  slope  in  a  wide  valley  close  to  the  Border,  and  thither 
they  all  set  out.  The  road  was  a  little  dull.  It  was  still  a 
wagon  track  here,  and  wound  about  interminable  curves  of 
bare  hillside,  now  in  view  of  the  Border  fence,  and  now 
offering  grand  panoramas  of  the  Basuto  side.  Hugh  set  off 
with  Cecil  in  front,  and  Chris  brought  up  the  rear  with 
Pamela. 

The  girl  rode  slowly,  so  that  they  gradually  but  imper- 
ceptibly fell  behind,  and  at  first  for  the  most  part  silently. 
Chris  had  his  own  thoughts,  and  she  startled  him  when  she 
said  suddenly :  "Chris,  are  you  serious  ?" 

"Serious  ?"  he  queried,  wholly  in  the  dark ;  "what  do  you 
mean  ?" 

She  surveyed  him  thoughtfully.  "Chris,"  she  went  on, 
"we  know  each  other  fairly  well.  I  like  you  immensely, 
but  I'm  under  no  delusions  about  you.  If  it  were  another 
girl,  I  shouldn't  care  a  damn,  but  I  love  Cecily." 

"Good  God!"  he  exclaimed.    "What  have  you  seen?" 

Pamela  sighed.  "I  saw  it  coming  in  Durban,"  she  said. 
"You  turned  her  head  at  Three  Springs  that  Sunday.  All 
Thursday  and  Friday  night  at  their  place  last  week  you 
watched  her  every  movement,  and  a  blind  man  might  have 
suspected  her.  If  you  want  to  make  love  to  a  married 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  227 

woman  you  should  cultivate  a  less  committal  look  in  your 
eyes.    And  at  the  store  you  both  stayed  behind  to  kiss." 

"Do  you  think  Hugh  has  seen  anything  then?"  he  de- 
manded, not  attempting  to  evade  the  charge. 

Pamela  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "God  knows,"  she  said. 
"He's  a  queer  creature,  but  I'm  very  fond  of  him  too. 
Probably  not,  though.  He  would  not  dream  it  of  Cecily." 

"Would  you?"  asked  Chris. 

Pamela  considered  this  in  silence  for  a  while.  Then  she 
said:  "No,  I  don't  think  I  should  have  done.  That  is  why 
I  ask  you  if  you  are  serious.  I'll  be  honest  with  you,  Chris. 
I  think  Cecily  loves  you  as  she  has  never  before  known 
what  it  was  to  love,  and  I  think  that,  because  she  is  not 
the  girl  to  flirt  with  you.  I've  known  her  a  long  time  now. 
When  she  married,  I  was  doubtful,  but  something  she  said 
made  me  think  it  was  all  right.  But  now  you've  appeared, 
a  deus  ex  tnachina.  Still,  the  mischief  is  not  irreparable. 
You  ought  to  clear  out  of  this  at  once,  cousin  mine." 

"Pamela,"  said  Chris  solemnly,  "I'll  not  go  without  her. 
You  may  believe  me  or  you  may  not,  but  I  love  her  as  you 
yourself  acknowledge  you  think  she  loves  me.  I  absolutely 
worship  her.  I've  never  seen  anyone  like  her.  Oh  Pamela — 
believe  me  if  you  can — I'd  do  anything  for  her.  Literally, 
I'd  die  for  her.  She's  so  little  and  pure  and  lovely.  She's 
such  a  child,  and  her  love  is  wonderful." 

"Therefore,"  said  his  cousin  drily,  "you'd  drag  her  as  a 
guilty  party  through  the  divorce  court.  You'd  make  her 
the  talk  of  the  whole  scandal-loving  country." 

He  flamed  up.  "It  shan't  touch  her,"  he  cried,  "by  God  it 
shan't!  I'd  shoot  the  beast  that  insulted  her  as  I'd  shoot  a 
dog.  And  I'll  take  her  out  of  this,  anywhere  she  wishes. 
The  world's  wide,  and  thank  God  I  can  afford  to  roam 
in  it." 

Pamela  was  touched,  but  she  did  not  say  so.  "You  speak 
like  a  fool,"  she  said.  "We  don't  live  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
Chris.  Then  you  think  you  know  women,  but  you  know 
nothing  of  them.  A  woman  like  Cecily  wants  a  home,  and 


228  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

her  people  mean  more  to  her  than  she  knows.  You  may  be 
unconventional  and  indifferent,  but  she  will  not  be,  when  the 
glamour  has  worn  off.  You  can't  drag  her  about  the  world 
for  ever  as  your  mistress,  and  to  me  it  is  quite  conceivable 
that  Hugh  will  refuse  to  divorce  her.  And  then  there's 
the  child.  For  God's  sake  be  sensible  for  once.  It's  an  aw- 
ful tragedy,  but  some  tragedies  have  to  be  borne,  and  to  at- 
tempt to  mend  them  is  to  make  matters  worse." 

Chris  had  never  faced  the  practical  tangible  problem  so 
nakedly  as  that.  He  was  irresolute  for  a  little,  but  just  then 
a  turn  in  the  road  brought  them  unexpectedly  within  sight 
of  the  camp.  Four  little  tents  stood  in  a  line  facing  down 
the  wide  slope  towards  the  west.  At  a  distance  blazed  a 
fire,  and  the  cook  boys  were  already  moving  about  it  with 
pots  and  pans.  The  horses  were  going  off  in  a  herd  to  feed. 
Mallory  was  plainly  to  be  seen  directing  the  stacking  of  the 
saddles,  and  on  a  pile  of  rugs  lay  Gwen  and  Cecil  at  their 
ease.  Eldred  was  handing  them  glasses  and  Hugh  stagger- 
ing up  with  more  cushions.  A  glory  of  red  and  crimson 
stained  the  distant  mountains,  and  the  dark  was  swiftly  fall- 
ing. The  slight  figure  on  the  rugs  was  watching  the  road, 
and  as  they  came  in  sight  she  waved  to  them.  Something 
suspiciously  like  tears  gathered  in  Chris's  eyes.  He  swal- 
lowed in  his  throat.  "We'd  better  hurry,"  said  Pamela,  and 
put  her  pony  to  a  canter. 

Chris  followed  suit  and  there  was  little  time  for  more, 
but,  speaking  rapidly,  he  replied  to  his  cousin.  "Pam,"  he 
said,  "I'm  glad  you've  spoken,  but  I'm  not  shaken.  I  love 
her  too  much.  But  I  promise  you  this:  first  if  I  think  she 
does  not  really,  deeply,  absolutely  love  me,  I'll  go ;  secondly, 
I'll  say  to  her  all  that  you've  said  to  me  before  she  is  com- 
mitted. I  give  you  my  word  of  honour.  Will  that  do?" 

Pamela  sighed.  "Don't  ask  me,"  she  said.  "But  thanks, 
old  boy." 

"And  you  will  be  her  friend  whatever  happens?"  he 
urged. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  229 

She  turned  her  grey  eyes  to  him  gravely.  "I  thought  you 
knew  me,  Chris,"  she  said. 

Cecil  called  out  to  them  as  they  rode  up.  "Come  on  you 
two.  This  is  utterly  too  glorious,  and  we're  drinking  whisky. 
I  never  liked  it  before." 

Grouped  there  on  the  rugs,  tired  but  deliciously  comfort- 
able, the  night  fell  on  them.  Camp  stew,  bread  and  jam, 
cake,  coffee,  chocolates,  cigarettes,  had  never  tasted  as  they 
did  that  night.  The  boys  made  another  big  fire  near  them, 
and  the  men  yarned  easily  away  of  other  camps  and  treks. 
Hugh  and  Mallory  discussed  routes  bristling  with  strange 
names,  and  recalled  to  each  other  this  and  that  incident, 
horses,  dogs,  game.  Chris  smoked  his  pipe  more  silently  than 
usual,  and  though  the  others  did  not  notice  it,  Cecil  did. 
She  asked  for  another  cushion,  and  he  brought  it  her,  and 
then,  at  her  silent  invitation,  settled  himself  down  near. 
Under  cover  of  the  darkness  and  the  talk,  a  little  hand  was 
slipped  into  his  own  with  a  warm  pressure  of  tenderness. 
Poor  Chris !  He  gripped  it  hard,  and  stared  at — hell. 

The  girls  insisted  on  sharing  a  tent,  and  that,  slight  as  it 
was,  cheered  him.  Moreover  Cecil  plainly  had  him  much 
in  mind.  Once,  just  before  bed  time,  they  passed  each 
other  with  an  armful  of  rugs  apiece,  and  she  whispered: 
"What's  the  matter,  darling?"  But  his:  "Nothing,  dear," 
did  not  satisfy  her.  He  shared  a  tent  with  Mallory,  but  he 
could  not  sleep.  At  last  he  pulled  the  flap  back  that  he 
might  stare  up  at  the  stars,  but  there  are  times  when  the 
very  stars  are  silent. 

Gwen  insisted  on  cooking  the  breakfast,  and  turned  out 
magnificent  omelettes.  There  did  not  seem  a  cloud  in  the 
sky  as  they  discussed  porridge  and  coffee,  and  Chris  had  to 
a  certain  extent  recovered  his  spirits.  The  whole  day  was 
very  much  a  repetition  of  the  last,  but  when  he  was  alone 
with  Cecil,  he  watched  her,  weighed  her  words,  questioned 
himself,  as  he  had  not  done  before.  He  and  Pamela  did 
not  return  to  the  subject.  Cecil  tried  to  press  her  as  to  her 


230  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

conversation  with  Chris  of  the  evening  before,  but  she  re- 
fused to  be  drawn  and  the  girl  did  not  dream  of  asking 
directly.  Yet,  although  neither  spoke  of  it,  Cecil  was  to 
learn  that  day  that  Pamela  knew.  She  was  unusually  tender 
to  her  for  one  thing,  but  that  in  itself  might  have  but  made 
her  suspect.  In  the  evening,  however,  she  deliberately  (and 
inwardly,  afterwards,  reproachfully)  gave  the  lovers  a 
chance  together  which  they  would  not  otherwise  have  had. 

It  came  about  in  this  way.  The  night's  camp  was  in  a 
cave,  Moshebi's  cave  of  Hugh's  planning,  which  stood  back 
from  the  track  some  hundreds  of  yards  at  the  foot  of  a  rocky 
kopje.  Above  it  and  behind,  was  a  tiny  native  village,  and 
to  this  the  head  man  invited  his  distinguished  visitors. 
Hugh  and  Mallory  set  off  with  him  (it  was  perhaps  fifteen 
minutes  away),  and  the  rest  were  following  together  when 
Pamela  discovered  that  she  had  forgotten  her  camera  and 
wanted,  as  there  was  still  enough  light,  to  take  a  snap-shot. 
Chris  ran  back  for  it,  and  she  and  Cecil  returned  slowly  to 
meet  him.  He  could  not  find  it  at  once,  and  they  reached 
the  cave  to  discover  him  on  his  knees  turning  over  the  packs. 
Cecil  sat  down.  "Oh,"  she  said,  "I  am  tired.  I  don't  want 
to  go  to  that  beastly  village  now." 

"Well,  let's  stop,"  said  Pamela.  "I  can  get  my  photo  in 
the  morning.  Stop  with  her,  Chris,  will  you?  I'll  just 
wave  the  others  not  to  wait."  And  she  turned  deliberately, 
and  walked  away  round  a  corner  from  which  the  others  on 
the  path  were  visible. 

Chris  moved  to  Cecil's  side.  "Pam  knows,"  said  Cecil 
with  a  little  smile.  He  caught  her  hand.  "She  does,"  he 
said,  "and  she's  a  brick.  She  meant  us  obviously  to  have 
these  few  minutes  together.  Kiss  me,  darling,  please.  This 
day  has  been  hard  without  one." 

Cecil  put  her  arms  up  and  drew  his  head  down  to  her. 
"It  hasn't  been  possible,  dearest,  has  it?"  she  murmured, 
"but  it  is  wonderful  seeing  you  all  day.  The  very  sight  of 
you  makes  me  glad.  '  And  strong,"  she  added. 

"  'The  weak  shall  be  strong,'  "  he  quoted,  smiling. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  231 

Cecil  started.   "Is  this  the  cave?"  she  said.   "Oh,  Chris!" 

"No,  no,  dearest,"  he  said,  "of  course  it  isn't.  Besides 
that's  all  rubbish.  Only  it's  so  true.  I'm  strong,  but  I'm 
very  weak  these  days.  I'm  too  weak  to  do  what  Pam  asked 
me  to  do  last  night,  though  to-morrow  I've  got  to  talk  to 
you  about  it  Oh  how  I  love  you,  my  dear  dear  Eve.  If 
only  you  and  I  were  really  alone  here,  wouldn't  it  be  won- 
derful, Cecily?" 

"What  did  she  say?"  demanded  Cecil. 

But  Pamela,  from  the  rocks  above,  staring  over  the  dark- 
ening lands,  saw  the  party  reappearing  and  turned,  whistling, 
to  the  cave.  There  was  no  time  for  Chris  to  reply  before  she 
entered.  Cecil  retained  his  hand  as  she  came  in,  and  smiled 
boldly  up  at  her.  "You're  rather  a  dear,  Pam,"  she  said. 

Pamela  chuckled.  "I'm  a  fool,"  she  said,  "but  you  two 
are  worse.  Go  and  meet  them,  Chris." 

The  next  day  opened  cheerlessly — it  was  cold  and  cloudy — 
and  they  had  not  been  long  in  the  saddle  when  a  drizzle  of 
rain  began  to  fall.  Even  when  it  did  not  actually  rain,  a  wet 
blanket  of  mist  swept  down  on  them  and  filled  the  hollows  in 
the  mountains  through  which  they  must  ride.  Everyone 
donned  Burberrys  or  mackintoshes,  and  Hugh  was  anxious 
for  Cecil  lest  she  should  catch  cold.  She,  however,  was  any- 
thing but  anxious  for  herself.  The  glow  of  exercise  in  her 
cheeks,  she  disdained  his  suggestions,  and  rode  gaily  on  with 
each  of  the  others  in  turn.  It  was  Gwen  who  was  chiefly 
bored  by  the  gloom  of  the  elements,  for  she  said  it  was  like 
an  English  day  and  a  disgrace  to  South  Africa.  Mallory 
warned  her  that,  up  here,  on  the  Border,  they  must  expect 
it.  He  told  gruesome  stories  of  the  Border  mist  completely 
enveloping  parties  for  days  together,  and  of  packs  tumbling 
over  unseen  precipices  when  forced  to  go  on. 

Lunch  was  eaten  in  a  drizzle,  and  whereas  one  may  ride 
gaily  enough  in  company  through  rain,  it  is  hard  to  be  cheer- 
ful and  eat  in  it.  Mallory  inwardly  sympathised  so  much 
with  Gwen,  that,  when  they  saddled  up  again,  he  suggested 
to  Hugh  that  he  should  ride  on  ahead  and  get  a  small  mar- 


232  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

quee  that  had  been  ordered  to  be  sent  up  from  the  police 
camp,  pitched  before  the  ladies  arrived.  Hugh  agreed  and 
said  he  would  come  with  him,  hurry  up  the  packs,  and  get 
some  hot  tea  ready  for  the  girls.  So  the  two  men  rode  off 
together,  and  the  rest  followed  at  their  own  pace.  The  path 
was  slippery  and  tortuous,  and  after  a  while  they  were  dis- 
posed as  follows:  Eldred  and  a  police  sergeant  in  front, 
Gwen  and  Pamela,  more  packs,  Cecil  and  Chris. 

It  seemed  to  him  a  heaven-sent  opportunity.  The  girl 
beside  him  rode  steadily  on,  with  a  serious  face  peeping  out 
over  her  tightly  buttoned  coat  and  her  hat  pressed  down  on 
her  ears.  "Do  you  hate  this  rain  awfully,  Eve?"  he  queried. 

She  smiled  at  him.  "I'm  wet,"  she  said,  "and  tired,  and 
a  bit  cold,  but  I'm  very  happy — now.  I  don't  want  to  see 
that  marquee  any  too  soon.  We  seem  to  have  licence  to 
ride  together  this  afternoon." 

Chris  rode  his  pony  quite  close  to  hers.  They  were  alone 
on  the  mountain  path  and  blanketed  in  mist.  He  pushed 
his  hand  into  her  arm  and  she  pressed  it  against  her  side. 

"Dear,"  he  said,  "let's  have  a  big  talk.  I  promised 
Pamela  yesterday  that  I  would  say  something  to  you.  May 
IP* 

"First,  what  did  Pam  say  to  you?"  she  asked  swiftly. 

He  evaded.  "Has  she  said  anything  to  you  to-day?"  he 
questioned  her. 

"She  has,"  said  Cecil,  "but  not  much.  She  told  me  only 
one  thing :  to  be  sure  this  time  that  I  spoke  what  I  felt." 

"I  don't  understand,  darling,"  said  Chris.  "Can't  you 
tell  me?" 

"Yes,  dear,  I  can.  I  think  I  can  spe.ak  to  you  of  every- 
thing and  anything,  and  I  think  somehow  the  time  and  the 
place  fit  in.  I  have  never  known  anyone  to  whom  I  felt  I 
could  speak  as  freely  as  to  you,  Chris.  It  doesn't  seem  to 
matter  what  I  say  to  you.  I've  absolutely  no  shame  with 
you.  Queer,  isn't  it?" 

The  man's  heart  beat  fiercely.  "Thank  God  you  can  say 
that,  little  girl,"  he  said. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  233 

"Well,  Chris,  listen.  When  I  came  back  from  school  in 
England  where  I'd  been  for  six  whole  years,  I  was  still  just 
a  child.  I  didn't  understand  anything  about  life  at  all.  But 
I  didn't  know  how  ignorant  I  was,  not  even  when  things 
were  pushed,  so  to  speak,  under  my  nose.  Looking  back 
now,  I  can  see  them  one  after  another.  First,  there  was  a 
thing  to  do  with  Harold,  my  brother.  While  I  was  away 
(and  of  course  I  wasn't  told)  he  got  into  trouble  with  one 
of  our  native  servants.  Gwen  guessed  and  told  me,  and  I 
was  utterly  horrified.  Oh  Chris,  you've  no  idea  how  I  felt 
it.  It  brought  the  ugliness  of  life  before  me.  I  couldn't 
conceive  how  Harold,  my  own  brother  Harold,  could  have 
thought  of  such  a  thing.  And  then  Gwen  told  me  one  day 
that  she  could  understand,  and  we  talked,  and  she  spoke 
about  having  a  craving  for  love — yes,  she,  a  child  of  sixteen. 
I  did  not  guess  half  of  it  then,  but  of  course  she  was  in  love 
with — with  a  man  herself,  and  she  was  feeling  that  hot  pas- 
sionate love  that  cares  nothing  about  law  or  decency  or 
anything.  Chris,  do  you  understand?" 

"Quite,"  he  said.  "Desire  can  burn  in  a  man  or  a  woman 
like  fire  in  straw." 

Cecil  nodded.  "Well,  then,  Hugh  came.  He  was  nice, 
kind,  and  awfully  good  to  me,  and  he  loved  me.  And  I  was 
an  overgrown  schoolgirl,  and  liked  it.  There  was  a  day 
when  Pam  asked  me  if  I  loved  him,  and  I  asked  her  what 
love  was  and  if — and  then  I  quoted  what  Gwen  had  said 
to  me — if  that  were  love.  And  she  thought  that  I  felt  that 
myself,  and  said  that  if  it  was  so  with  me,  I  should  marry 
Hugh.  That's  what  she  meant  when  she  said  that  I  was 
to  speak  now  what  I  felt.  Well,  then,  I  did  not  feel  tliat 
in  the  least  for  Hugh.  The  very  idea  of  it  horrified  me. 
I  thought  it  was  beastly.  I  thought  marrying  him  was  a 
picnic  sort  of  affair,  and  that  we  should  be  happy  and  jolly 
for  ever  up  at  Springfontein.  So  we  married." 

"And  you've  been  unhappy,  darling,  ever  since, — is  that 
it?" 

"Oh  no,  Chris,  no,  not  a  bit.    It  was  dull,  quiet  perhaps, 


234  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

but  Hugh  was  very  good  to  me — too  good.  Of  course  there 
was  baby,  and  Hugh  sometimes  seemed  to  me  almost  like — 
well,  like  what  I  imagined  Harold  must  have  been.  But  it 
was  only  occasionally,  and  I  supposed  like  a  man.  On  the 

whole  he  was  always — always "  And  she  hesitated  for 

a  word. 

"Tame,"  said  Chris  gravely,  but  smiling  a  little  despite  it. 

She  glanced  sharply  at  him,  but  saw  that  he  did  not  joke. 
"That  was  just  it,"  she  went  on,  in  a  lower  voice,  "and  as 
for  me,  I  just  slept.  Just  that.  And  then  you  came.  .  .  ." 

He  pressed  her  arm,  saying  nothing,  and  in  a  while  she 
resumed. 

"First,  I  had  only  to  see  you  to  know  that  you  meant 
something  to  me  which  no  one  else  had  ever  meant.  Oh 
Chris,  what  was  it,  I  wonder? — but  we've  spoken  of  that 
Each  day  I  was  drawn  more  and  more  to  you — so  swiftly 
too.  Do  you  remember  the  library  at  Three  Springs  and 
how  you  read  to  me  ?  Each  thing  fitted — the  mist  over  life, 
the  passing  of  old  things,  the  waking  to  love.  Then  we  met 
at  Kokstad.  I  had  really  come  in  to  find  you,  and  for  no 
other  purpose,  but  when  I  saw  you  I  would  not  have  dared 
to  speak  if  you  had  not  seen  me.  Then  you  called.  You 
always  seemed  to  me  to  be  at  home,  somehow,  in  my  house. 
Hugh  seemed  like  the  visitor,  and  you,  as  if  you  belonged. 
Do  you  know  when  I  really  knew  (though  I  didn't  dare 
own  it  to  myself)  that  I  loved  you?  It  was  that  night, 
after  Mr.  Gressly  had  been  to  dinner,  when  we  said  'Good- 
night' on  the  stoep." 

"Eve,  Eve,  my  darling,  fancy  your  remembering  every 
little  thing !" 

"Oh  I  shall  never  forget,  Chris  dear.  How  could  I? 
And  then  that  afternoon  in  the  drawing-room.  That  was 
the  moment  of  all  my  life,  Chris.  I,  too,  knew  I  had  a  lover, 
and  I,  too,  knew  what  it  was  to  be  burned  up  by  fire." 

They  rode  on  a  little  way  in  silence.  "And  now,"  said 
Cecil  at  last,  "I  am  sure  I  have  spoken  what  I  truly  feel." 

"And  now?"  echoed  Chris. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  235 

"Now,"  said  Cecil,  "you  know  how  I  love  you,  and  know- 
ing that  I  love  you,  you  will  ride  away  and  leave  me  to 
my  fate." 

"By  God,  I  won't,"  cried  Chris  passionately.  "You're 
mine,  mine,  Cecily !  I-  defy  fate.  Besides  it's  a  sham,  a  lie ; 
we  make  our  own  fate.  Little  Eve,  listen.  We  finish  this 
trek — we  must  for  the  sake  of  appearances,  and  besides 
we've  got  to  get  down  from  here — and  then  I  go  straight 
to  the  coast.  I  must  cable  for  money  and  make  some  ar- 
rangements, but  then  I'll  book  a  cabin  on  a  mail  steamer 
for  'Australia.  We  will  make  a  plan — easily  enough,  leave 
that  to  me — to  give  you  a  few  days'  unsuspected  absence, 
and  you  will  join  me  in  Durban.  The  day  we  leave,  we'll 
send  a  letter  to  Hugh.  I'm  awfully  sorry  for  him,  but  we 
can't  help  ourselves.  From  Australia,  we'll  go  on  round 
the  Islands,  the  lands  of  the  sun  and  coral  sands  and  sea 
breeze,  of  little  pearly  lagoons  and  long  warm  tropical 
nights,  with  the  palms  rustling  overhead  and  the  fire-flies 
dancing  beneath  them.  We'll  forget  the  world,  and  the 
world  will  soon  forget  us.  Will  you,  Eve  darling?  Will 
you  come  with  me  to  Paradise?" 

"Oh  Chris,"  she  whispered,  "my  own  Chris,  it's  too  lovely 
to  be  possible." 

"But  it  is  possible,"  he  persisted.  "It  waits  for  us.  Do 
you  mind  leaving  everyone  for  my  sake,  Cecily?" 

She  answered  him  slowly.  "Father,  no;  Hugh,  no; 
mother,  no;  friends,  no;  Ronnie,  no — and  yes,  yes,  Chris, 
I  think,"  she  said. 

"What  do  you  mean,  darling?  Bring  him  too.  I  count 
on  that.  There's  no  need  to  leave  Ronnie,  Cecily." 

"Can't  Hugh  claim  him  by  law,  Chris?" 

"They  must  find  him,  first,  Cecil;  then  get  him." 

Cecil  stared  out  into  the  mist.  "Chris,"  she  said,  "that 
is  the  awful  part  of  it  all.  Ronnie  will  grow  up  to  be 
ashamed  of  his  mother,  perhaps;  more  likely,  for  I  don't 
even  think  I  could  take  him,  without  his  mother.  But  what 
terrifies  me  is  this :  I  don't  really  care.  I  love  you  as  much 


236  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

as  that,  Chris.  He's  my  child,  but  he's  Hugh's  child.  I 
know,  now,  that  he's  not  the  child  of  my  real  love,  anyway. 
I  don't  feel  a  bit  about  him  as  mothers  are  supposed  to  feel, 
and  I'd  rather  die  than  have  another  baby  with  Hugh,  I 
think.  But  deep,  deep  down,  I  feel  that  I'm  responsible  for 
him.  I  gave  him  birth ;  how  then  can  I  leave  him  ?  In  long 
years  to  come,  how  should  I  face  God,  Chris  ?  And  yet  God 
is  little  to  me  by  you  now,  and  better  to  leave  Ronnie  than 
that  he  should  grow  up  to  hate  me.  Yes,  better  to  leave 
him,  I  think,  Chris." 

"I  think  you  are  right  about  that,  darling,"  said  Christo- 
pher. "It's  an  amazing  world,  but  there  is  only  one  fact  in 
it  that  I  can  see  clearly:  I  love  you,  and  you  love  me, 
and  nothing  else  matters.  Isn't  that  it?" 

"Yes,"  whispered  Cecil.  "And  Chris — do  you  hate  this, 
for  I  remember  what  you  said? — I  want  us  to  have  a  son 
more  than  I  can  tell  you.  Chris,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  to  say  it,  but  I'm  not,  and  I  feel  I  shall  hardly  live 
till  I  have  you  in  my  arms.  And  will  you  give  me  another 
baby,  Chris?" 

Chris  reined  up  his  horse  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  bridle. 
He  leaned  out  of  the  saddle  and  clasped  her  to  him,  kissing 
her  passionately.  "Cecily,  Cecily,"  he  whispered,  "you 
make  me  believe  again  in  God.  I  adore  you  and  Him  in 
you,  my  love,  my  life,  and  you  shall  be  mine  and  I  will  be 
yours,  soul  and  body,  here  and  hereafter.  Shall  it  be, 
Cecily,  shall  it  be?" 

"Yes,"  she  whispered  back,  and  clutched  fiercely  at  his 

arm. 

******* 

Out  of  the  mist  ahead,  a  voice  sounded,  crying  her  name. 
It  was  Pamela's.  They  disengaged  hastily,  and  Cecil 
straightened  her  hat  and  dropped  a  little  veil  over  her  face. 

"Yes?"  shouted  back  Chris,  enquiringly. 

"Oh  Chris,  is  that  you?  Is  Cecily  there?  Ride  on  will 
you,  quickly,  the  others  are  coming  to  meet  us." 

"Pamela's  a  jolly  good  sort  of  a  cousin,  isn't  she,  little 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  237 

girl?"  said  Chris  jokingly,  and  Cecil  shot  a  smile  at  him 
from  under  her  veil.  They  shook  up  their  horses.  As  they 
rounded  the  corner,  the  mists  ahead  were  seen  to  have 
cleared  away  beyond,  for  a  wind  was  blowing  up  the  valley, 
and  the  camp  burst  on  their  view.  Cecil  half  reined  up 
with  a  startled  exclamation.  "Chris!"  she  cried,  "the  Falls 
and  the  Pool !" 

He  nodded.  A  plain  lay  before  them,  and  across  it,  with 
the  hill  side  round  which  they  had  come  running  down 
steeply  to  it,  was  the  Tselike.  Perhaps  half  a  mile  away, 
the  encircling  mountains  met  again,  and  here,  in  a  gap  a 
good  hundred  feet  in  height,  the  river  poured  over  into  the 
plain.  It  fell  into  a  great  pool  shut  in  by  big  boulders,  and 
the  roar  of  it  came  distinctly  on  their  ears.  It  was  the  place 
named  in  their  strange  adventure  sure  enough,  or  one  too 
like  it  for  either  to  doubt. 

Chris  himself  was  aware  of  a  strange  sensation  of  dread, 
but  he  hastened  to  reassure  the  girl  by  his  side.  "Never 
mind,  dearest,"  he  said.  "It's  the  place  we  shall  remember 
with  joy  all  our  lives  for  it  has  finally  given  us  to  each 
other.  You  needn't  be  frightened  now,  need  you?"  But 
even  as  he  spoke,  he  stared  curiously  at  the  camp,  and  his 
lips  closed  as  if  in  some  surprise. 

There  was,  indeed,  an  unusual  air  about  the  already  half- 
erected  encampment  set  up  on  an  open  amphitheatre  of 
rock  above  the  great  pool  into  which  the  Tselike  thundered. 
The  marquee  was  half  up,  but  flapping  in  the  wind,  and  the 
natives  were  standing  in  a  group  about  it,  looking  up  their 
way.  Mallory  was  a  little  apart,  talking  to  a  black  police- 
man who  held  a  steaming  horse  by  the  bridle.  And  riding 
fast  towards  them  were  Hugh  and  Mr.  Eldred.  Chris's  eyes 
were  keen.  He  set  his  own  horse  in  quicker  motion  at  what 
he  saw,  and  glanced  sharply  at  Cecil.  "Let  me  get  ahead  a 
little,  darling,"  he  said. 

Of  the  two  fast  approaching,  Hugh  was  leading,  and 
Chris  pushed  out  to  meet  him.  His  face  was  as  white  as  a 


238  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

sheet,  and  he  did  not  seem  to  see  Chris  at  all.  "What  is  it, 
Sinclair?"  demanded  Chris,  half  blocking  his  way. 

The  other  pushed  by  him  without  a  word,  and  leapt  from 
his  horse.  Chris  heard  Cecil  cry:  "Oh,  Hugh,  what's  the 
matter?"  and  saw  him  reach  up  and  put  an  arm  about  her 
waist.  He  half  caught  a  muttered:  "Oh  my  darling,  my 
darling,"  but  then  Eldred  was  upon  him.  Cecil's  father  shot 
a  glance  at  the  husband  and  wife  behind,  and  jumped  from 
his  own  horse,  passing  his  hand  through  his  bridle.  Chris 
leapt  off  by  him,  and  the  elder  man  took  his  arm  heavily. 
Cecil,  behind,  suddenly  burst  into  a  wail,  crying  hysterically : 
"Oh  God,  oh  God !"  and  Chris  tried  to  swing  himself  round 
in  a  sudden  agony.  "No,  Ashurst,  no,"  said  Mr.  Eldred. 
"Best  leave  them  alone.  God  help  them  both." 

"But  what  is  it?"  cried  Chris  fiercely.  "For  Christ's  sake, 
tell  me." 

"Ronnie's  dead,"  said  Eldred. 

In  a  nightmare  of  helplessness,  Chris  rode  into  camp  and 
walked  over  to  the  police  messenger  who  had  come  with  the 
news.  Mallory  turned  to  him  and  spoke  in  low  tones.  "He's 
travelled  by  relays,"  he  explained.  "They  wired  to  the 
Nek.  It  seems  the  little  chap  was  run  over  yesterday  by  a 
car  in  the  main  street  of  Kokstad.  It's  the  most  awful 
thing  I've  ever  heard,  I  think." 

Cecil,  sobbing  and  clinging  to  Hugh,  was  led  by  him  into 
a  tent,  and  the  rest  drew  apart.  Gwen  was  weeping  silently. 
Pamela  was  stony-eyed.  In  a  few  minutes  Hugh  came  out, 
looking  an  old  and  broken  man.  He  came  up  to  Pamela 
and  raised  tired  and  dead  eyes  to  her.  "She  wants  you," 
he  said.  "Do  you  mind  going?" 

Pamela  went  straight  to  the  tent  without  speaking,  and 
silence  fell  on  the  little  group  outside.  Then  Mallory  took 
control.  "We  must  stay  the  night,"  he  said  authoritatively. 
"It's  too  late  to  start  back,  and  useless,  and  besides  she's 
not  fit  to  ride.  I'll  send  police  by  relays,  and  arrange  for 
a  car  to  come  to  Ramatseliso's.  It's  just  possible  to  get  one 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  239 

up  from  Griqualand.  You  can  leave  early  to-morrow,  Sin- 
clair." And  he  turned  away  to  give  directions  at  once. 

Within  the  tent,  Pamela  found  Cecil  sitting  on  a  pile  of 
rugs  with  a  set  wild  face.  She  was  no  longer  weeping. 
"Pam,  Pam,"  she  cried  as  her  friend  came  in,  "God's  pun- 
ishing me !  Pam,  take  me  from  this  awful  place — Pam,  you 
must,  you  must!" 

"There,  there,  dear,"  said  Pamela,  sitting  down  by  her 
and  throwing  her  arm  around  her  neck.  "You  shall  go, 
darling.  Don't  think  of  it  now,  dear.  There's  nothing 
unknown  to  fear  now.  What  has  happened,  has  happened, 
and,  terrible  as  it  is,  it's  not  your  fault." 

"It  is,  it  is,"  cried  Cecil,  "but  oh,  why  did  God  let  me 
marry?  Why  do  I  love  Chris?  Why  did  I  ever  see  him? 
Oh  save  me  from  Chris,  Pam,  save  me  from  Chris !" 

A  bewildered  look  crossed  Pamela's  face.  For  the  life  of 
her,  she  could  not  understand.  "Don't  you  love  him  then, 
any  more,  Cecil?"  she  asked,  almost  sharply. 

"Love  him !"  exclaimed  Cecil  wildly.  "Don't  you  see  that 
I  love  him  far  too  much? — more  than  myself,  more  than 
my  child,  more  than  God !" 

Pamela's  face  cleared.  She  bent  over  her  friend  with  a 
great  tenderness.  "I  see,  darling,"  she  whispered.  "But 
we  are  not  friends  for  nothing,  little  Cecily.  Leave  it  to 
me." 


PART  III 
THE  MOTHER 


CHAPTER  I 

could  not  sleep  for  a  long  time — probably  few 
of  them  did — but  in  the  morning  Mallory's  entrance 
in  a  Burberry  over  his  pyjamas  did  not  wake  him.  Mai- 
lory,  bent  nearly  double  in  the  little  tent,  came  over  and 
touched  his  shoulder,  collapsing  into  a  sitting  position  as 
the  other  stirred  and  yawned  sleepily.  The  moment  he  saw 
him,  however,  Chris  was  wide  awake.  "Hullo,"  he  said, 
"how's  things?  What's  the  morning  like?"  And  he  sat 
up  and  groped  for  his  cigarettes. 

Mallory  refused  one,  but  produced  a  pipe  from  his  pocket 
and  lit  it.  "Look  here,"  he  said,  "I've  come  to  talk  things 
over  with  you.  Eldred's  not  much  use,  and  Sinclair's  still 
with  his  wife.  (The  night  before,  at  Hugh's  insistence,  the 
tents  had  been  re-arranged  so  that  he  and  Cecil  slept 
together.  Cecil  had  scarcely  appeared  again  publicly  and  if 
she  had  any  objections  now  to  this  arrangement,  she  sup- 
pressed them,  or  made  them  only  to  her  husband.)  We'd 
much  better  have  everything  cut  and  dried  before  they 
appear." 

Chris  nodded.  He  was  wondering  whether  the  other 
man  guessed  anything.  It  was  hard  to  say:  Mallory's  eyes 
were  inscrutable.  But  since  Pam's  statement  as  fo  the  ob- 
viousness of  things  to  her,  Chris  had  considered  the  pos- 
sibility of  others  guessing  a  little.  So  now  he  said  nothing. 
Mallory  should  have  his  say. 

"You  see,"  that  cool  voice  of  the  other  went  on,  "I  take 
it  the  trek  is  off  for  us  all.  I  sent  off  a  man  last  night  and 
told  him  to  ride  like  hell,  knock  up  Bartlow  at  Ramatseliso's 
and  get  a  fresh  horse,  go  on  at  once  to  Matatiele,  and  have 
a  car  sent  up  to  the  store  by  midday  if  possible.  Sinclair 

243 


244  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

and  his  wife  must  leave  immediately  after  breakfast,  and 
I've  got  fresh  horses  for  them  from  our  police-camp  near 
here.  But  one  of  us  ought  to  go  with  them.  I  don't  think 
Eldred  is  the  man — he's  a  bit  old  and  tired.  Shall  it  be  you 
or  I?  It's  difficult  for  me  to  go  all  the  way  to  Kokstad, 
though  I  could  do  it  at  a  pinch." 

"What  about  the  rest?"  questioned  Chris. 

"Well,"  said  Mallory,  "my  idea  is  this.  I  take  it  none  of 
'em  will  have  much  heart  for  a  long  trek  back.  Therefore 
I  suggest  that  at  any  rate  Eldred  and  the  girls  ride  down 
Bushman's  Nek  and  catch  the  train  at  Underberg.  If  they 
leave  this  morning,  they'll  be  in  Underberg  to-night,  and 
to-morrow  night  in  Kokstad.  The  train  leaves  about  8  a.m. 
to-morrow;  change  at  Donnybrook.  I  can  find  an  orderly 
to  guide  them  to  the  head  of  the  Pass,  and  they'd  better 
take  a  boy  with  big  saddle-bags  and  a  few  things  for  the 
night,  and  so  on.  He  can  bring  back  the  horses." 

"And  this  outfit?" 

"The  police  can  bring  it  all  back  to  Qacha's  Nek.  It'll 
take  them  three  or  four  days.  They  had  better  rest  the 
packs  here  a  bit,  and  start  in  a  day  or  two." 

Chris  smoked  thoughtfully.  Then  he  nodded.  "Yes," 
he  said,  "so  far  so  good.  It's  the  best  plan,  I  think." 

"Well,  then,  which  of  us  shall  ride  with  the  Sinclairs?" 

Chris  glanced  up  at  him.  But  Mallory  was  nursing  his 
pipe  in  the  grip  of  his  left  hand  and  pulling  steadily.  Chris 
could  read  nothing  in  his  face,  but  he  gathered  from  the 
other's  tone  that  he  considered  the  man  in  the  blankets  the 
obvious  person.  But  he  longed  for  a  word  with  Cecil. 
Would  she  wish  it?  On  the  other  hand,  would  she  think  it 
a  kind  of  desertion  if  he  left  her?  But  how  could  Hugh 
and  he  accompany  her  to  Springf ontein  ? 

"Chris,"  said  a  voice  at  his  door. 

He  scrambled  out  of  bed  and  reached  for  his  waterproof. 
Struggling  into  it,  he  said  in  a  low  tone  to  Mallory :  "Stay 
here  a  moment  will  you?  That's  Pam.  I  must  just  see 
what  she  wants." 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  245 

Outside  he  found  his  cousin  in  a  borrowed  military  over- 
coat, with  its  collar  turned  up  and  her  hair  hanging  outside 
it  glistening  with  moisture.  The  roar  of  the  falls  struck 
him  as  he  emerged  and  he  noticed  that  a  heavy  mist  still 
lay  around  up  the  hill-sides.  "Well  ?"  he  queried. 

She  pushed  her  arm  through  his  and  led  him  a  little  away 
from  the  row  of  tents. 

"I  was  awake,  Chris,"  she  said,  "and  I  saw  Mr.  Mallory 
pass  our  tent  to  go  to  you.  Are  you  making  plans  ?" 

He  outlined  what  Mallory  had  said. 

"I  see,"  she  said.  "Well,  Mr.  Mallory  must  go  with 
them." 

Chris  hesitated.  "How  can  I  leave  Cecily?"  he  ques- 
tioned. 

"Chris,"  said  Pamela,  "I  know  she  would  wish  it.  Will 
you  take  my  word  for  it,  dear?  Besides,  you  cannot  go 
with  them.  It  would  be  torture  to  both  of  you.  You  had 
better  not  see  her  for  some  months.  Honestly,  it's  not  fair 

on  her  that  you  should.  Let  her  get  over  this,  and  then 

Well,  I  don't  know  what  you  have  decided  between  you, 
but  you  can  re-open  the  matter  then  if  both  of  you  wish." 

They  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  Falls  in  silence,  and  stood 
staring  up  at  them.  "What  the  devil  do  you  think  that  old 
witch  meant  on  the  Umtamvuna?"  demanded  Chris  sud- 
denly and  irritably. 

Pamela  did  not  at  once  reply.  She  did  not  take  her  gaze 
from  the  falling  water.  Then  she  said:  "How  can  I  say, 
Chris  ?  Perhaps  I  have  a  glimmering  of  an  idea,  but  I  don't 
know.  Anyway  you  have  to  be  strong  now.  And  the 
strong  thing  is  to  trust  Cecily  to  know  her  own  heart  and  to 
leave  Mallory  to  take  them  home." 

Chris  frowned  moodily.  "Let's  go  back,"  was  all  he 
said. 

He  dived  into  his  tent  and  squatted  on  the  valise.  Mal- 
lory knocked  out  his  pipe  on  a  stone  to  one  side  of  the  tent. 
"Well?"  he  queried. 

Chris  did  not  attempt  to  evade.    "I  told  her  your  plans," 


246  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

he  said,  "and  she  thinks  it  would  be  better  if  you  went  with 
the  Sinclairs." 

Mallory  rose  at  once.  He  did  not  look  at  him.  "Very 
good,"  he  said.  "I'll  go  and  hurry  up  breakfast." 

They  were  a  forlorn  party  in  the  marquee.  Hugh  was 
unshaven,  and  even  then  Pamela  could  not  help  smiling  to 
herself  secretly.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  seen  him  so. 
Cecil  scarcely  spoke  and  hardly  raised  her  eyes  to  any  of 
them.  Gwen  was  still  struggling  with  her  tears.  They  were 
all  dressed  for  riding. 

An  orderly  put  his  head  in  at  the  door.  "The  horses 
are  ready,  sir,"  he  said  to  Mallory. 

They  went  out  together.  Hugh  helped  Cecil  up  and 
then  turned  to  shake  hands  with  Eldred.  Chris  walked 
up  to  Cecil  and  took  her  little  gloved  hand  in  his.  It  lin- 
gered a  minute,  but  the  others  were  too  close  for  him  to 
say  much.  "Goodbye,"  he  said.  "You  know  what  I  feel, 
don't  you?  God  keep  you." 

She  glanced  at  him  then,  her  eyes  wild  and  haunted,  her 
face  white  and  drawn.  But  she  did  not  speak  at  all,  and 
Chris  stepped  back  as  Gwen  came  up.  Mallory  was  swing- 
ing into  the  saddle.  "You  can't  miss  the  path,"  he  said  to 
Chris.  "At  the  foot  of  the  Pass  there's  a  S.A.M.R.  post 
where  they'll  give  you  tea.  Off-saddle  an  hour  there.  You 
should  be  in  Underberg  by  half-past  three  or  four.  Come 
up  to  the  Nek  when  you  can ;  my  wife  and  I  will  be  de- 
lighted to  put  you  up."  He  shook  hands  warmly. 

The  husband  and  wife  were  already  in  motion,  and  the 
little  group  of  four  drew  together  to  watch  them.  A  hun- 
dred yards  away,  Hugh  turned  in  the  saddle  and  waved 
his  hand,  but  Cecil  did  not  look  back.  She  sat  hunched  up 
on  her  horse,  with  bowed  shoulders,  a  stricken  little  figure 
on  a  big  police  pony.  Mallory  had  drawn  ahead.  And 
in  ten  minutes  the  mist  swallowed  them. 

Then  Gwen  broke  down  again.  She  was  next  Chris  and 
he  turned  to  her,  blind-eyed  with  his  own  tears,  put  his 
arm  on  her  neck  and  led  her  away.  "There,  there,  little 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  247 

girl,"  he  said.  "Don't  cry.  Tears  are  little  use  in  this 
world.  We  have  all  to  go  through  with  it,  you  know." 

"I  know,"  sobbed  Gwen.  "B-but  I  shall  never  forget 
Hugh's  face.  And  to  think  what  he's  riding  to  all  this 
awful  day." 

Chris  said  no  more.  It  struck  him  that  he  had  hardly 
thought  of  Hugh. 

An  hour  later  they  themselves  set  out.  The  path,  a 
•rocky  and  tiny  one,  sloped  up  away  from  the  tents,  crossed 
the  Tselike  above  the  Falls,  and  wandered  over  a  seem- 
ingly desolate  plain,  on  which  the  rocks  loomed  up  ghostly 
in  the  mist  and  still  meres  of  water  lay  stagnant  on  the 
coarse  grass.  It  was  cold,  and  grew  colder.  Gwen  and 
her  father  rode  ahead  after  the  police  guide,  Gwen  still 
crying  now  and  again  silently,  and  Pamela  and  Chris  fol- 
lowed with  the  boy  behind  them.  They  did  not  say  much 
at  first.  Then  a  breeze  got  up,  and  after  the  mist  had 
been  driven  this  way  and  that  for  a  bit,  it  suddenly  lifted. 
Chris  reined  up  his  horse  with  an  exclamation. 

A  wonderful  sight  stretched  before  and  below  them.  It 
was  apparent  that  they  had  been  riding  as  it  were  on  the 
edge  of  the  world.  The  path  ran  between  castles  and 
kopjes  of  rock  near  the  edge  of  a  veritable  precipice  which 
fell  into  the  Bushman's  Pass.  They  were  riding  towards 
its  head,  plain  to  be  seen  between  two  peaks,  and  it  ran 
down,  ever  widening,  to  a  silver  streak  of  river  which 
grew  and  grew  and  passed  out  finally  into  the  plain  of 
Natal.  Dwarfed  trees  and  bushes  appeared  in  increasing 
patches  on  the  mountain-sides.  Far  below  a  streak  or 
two  of  watery  sunshine  fell  on  mealie  lands  and  the  white 
roofs  of  a  small  settlement  of  houses. 

Pamela  pointed  with  her  whip.  "The  S.A.M.R.  post," 
she  said. 

Chris  looked  to  the  left,  to  the  Basutoland  side.  The 
mist  there  was  still  swirling  over  the  plain  and  filling  the 
valleys,  but  the  tumbled  succession  of  peaks  rose  out  of 
it,  a  but  little  known  and  romantic  land.  He  sighed.  "By 


248  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Jove,  Pam,"  he  said,  "it's  hard,  despite  all  this,  to  turn 
one's  back  on  that" 

She  looked  towards  the  mountains  as  he  had  done  at 
that,  her  strong  face  showing  no  trace  of  what  she  was 
planning  already,  but  her  eyes  narrowing  a  little.  He  had 
given  her  a  perfect  opening,  and  she  took  it. 

"Why  should  we?"  she  said  calmly. 

Chris  started.    "What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "what  can  you  and  I  do  down  there? 
We  can  do  no  good.  Remember  we're  in  Africa;  we 
shan't  even  be  in  time  for  the  funeral.  Mr.  Eldred  and 
her  sister  will  doubtless  go  to  Kokstad,  but  if  we  go  any- 
where, it  had  better  be  to  Durban  and  so  home.  But  why 
should  we  go?  There's  no  reason  that  I  can  see.  Why 
should  we  not  trek  across  Basutoland  to  the  Free  State? 
Then  I  can  go  home,  and  you  can  go  on  to  Johannesburg 
as  you  want  to  do,  and  see  the  Transvaal." 

"But  the  others?"  queried  Chris. 

"We'll  see  them  to  Underberg  and  into  the  train.  Then 
we  can  return.  A  day  more  or  less  makes  no  difference." 

"But  our  trek  things  ?"  he  persisted. 

Pamela  looked  at  him  quizzically  and  laughed  outright 
for  the  first  time  that  day.  "Really,  Chris,"  she  said,  "you 
are  an  old  duffer.  Didn't  Mr.  Mallory  say  that  the  pack 
horses  and  their  own  must  be  rested  a  day  at  least  and 
not  leave  till  to-morrow?  And  isn't  this  orderly  leaving 
us  at  the  border  in  an  hour  or  so  ?  He  can  take  a  message. 
We  could  have  our  outfit  and  boys  at  this  very  place  to- 
morrow night  as  easily  as  possible,  and  get  back  here  from 
Underberg  in  time  for  tea.  Or,  better  still,  we  could  tell 
them  to  wait  for  us  in  the  Bushman's  cave,  and  we  can 
arrive  and  camp  there  for  the  first  night, — to-morrow  or 
the  day  after,  as  you  please." 

The  blood  raced  in  Christopher's  veins.  "By  Jove!"  he 
exclaimed,  "it  would  be  perfect!  You're  great,  Pam.  But 
look  here,  could  you  and  I  clear  off  alone  like  that?  What 
the  devil  would  people  say  ?  There  would  be  days  and  some 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  249 

nights  at  least,  I  suppose,  when  we'd  be  far  from  any  Euro- 
peans and  alone  up  there." 

Pamela  hid  a  smile  of  triumph.  "All  right,"  she  said 
resignedly.  "I  did  not  know  you  were  so  conventional, 
Chris.  I  thought  this  was  the  twentieth  century,  and  you 
my  cousin  into  the  bargain.  I've  seemed  to  be  grown-up  so 
long,  and  father  has  so  carefully  encouraged  me  to  think  and 
act  for  myself  like  an  intelligent  human  being,  that  I  forgot 
you  would  still  think  of  me  as  a  town-bred  miss,  afraid  of 
the  world.  Come  on.  Let's  catch  up  the  others."  And  she 
put  her  pony  to  a  canter. 

But  that  settled  Chris,  as  she  had  meant  it  to  do.  He 
caught  her  up  and  apologised  ruefully.  "My  dear  Pam," 
was  what  he  said,  "I'm  a  fearful  ass.  For  the  Lord's  sake, 
forgive  me.  Of  course  you're  perfectly  right.  Do  let's  do 
it.  We'll  catch  up,  and  I'll  tell  Eldred  while  you  break  the 
news  to  Gwen." 

She  gave  him  a  shy  smile.  "That's  better,"  she  said,  "but 
if  you  think  you'll  be  bored  with  me,  for  heaven's  sake  say 
so." 

Chris  laughed  gaily,  but  sobered  at  once.  "You  know  I 
shan't,"  he  said,  "though  I  may  be  a  bit  dull  at  times.  I 
can't  forget  this  tragedy  and  Cecily,  you  know." 

"I'm  her  friend,  too,"  said  Pamela  quietly. 

Chris  drew  Eldred  ahead  and  told  him  their  plan.  "I  see 
no  reason  why  we  should  not  go,"  he  said  finally.  "We  can 
do  no  good  down  there,  and  indeed,  after  all  this,  I  feel  I 
can't  sit  still  in  Griqualand." 

Then  Eldred  expressed  himself.  "It's  an  utter  impos- 
sibility," he  burst  out.  "Forgive  me  for  straight  speaking, 
Ashurst, — I  know  in  a  way  I've  no  right  to  speak  to  you — 
but  I'm  an  older  man  than  you  are  and  I  tell  you  it  can't 
be  done.  Half  the  country  will  talk  of  it.  You  will  ruin 
the  girl's  reputation.  Why,  as  likely  as  not,  you'll  be  a 
fortnight  getting  across  and  not  meet  half  a  dozen  white 
people  all  the  way!" 

"All  the  more  reason  why  we  should  go,"  said  Chris  curtly. 


250  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"There  will  be  fewer  fools  to  talk,  and  I  expect  folks  up 
there  will  have  sloughed  off  a  little  of  this  rotten  convention- 
ality. You  seem  to  forget,  Eldred,  that  Pamela's  a  grown 
woman  and  my  cousin." 

"Fiddle-sticks!"  exclaimed  the  farmer  angrily.  "I  don't 
care  what  you  say.  I  know  things  have  changed  since  I  was 
in  England,  but,  good  God,  you're  a  man  and  she's  a  woman 
and  you  can't  go  gadding  about  together  as  if  you  were  man 
and  wife!  If  you  do,  the  world  will  say  you're  man  and 
mistress  ever  after." 

Christopher  laughed  easily,  his  anger  evaporating.  "Look 
here,"  he  said,  "I  might  be  angry,  but  I  won't  be.  I  know 
you  mean  it  all  right.  But  I'll  be  as  straight  as  you  are. 
There  are  dirty-minded  fools  in  the  world  who  may  speak 
as  you  say,  but  I  don't  think  Pamela  or  I  care  a  curse  for 
them.  I  know  I  don't.  And  if  she  doesn't,  I'm  not  going 
to  try  and  persuade  her  to  do  so.  Talk  to  her  yourself  if 
you  want  to,  but  you've  settled  me.  If  I  ever  had  any  hesi- 
tation, I  haven't  now.  If  she  remains  willing,  I  shall  cer- 
tainly go." 

He  pulled  up  his  pony,  and  as  the  girls  came  up  said 
coolly  to  Pamela,  "Pam,  Mr.  Eldred  is  against  it  and  wants 
to  talk  to  you.  Ride  on  with  him,  will  you?" 

She  nodded  and  did  so,  and  Chris  dropped  to  Gwen's 
side.  "Well,  Gwen,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

She  raised  a  miserable  face  to  him.  "Oh,"  she  said 
wearily,  "I  don't  know.  It's  Pain's  lookout,  I  think.  Per- 
sonally, I'd  go,  like  a  shot,  if  it  were  me,  though  I  expect 
I  shouldn't  for  my  people's  sake,  if  it  came  to  the  point. 
Only  I've  no  wish  to  go  now.  I  don't  want  ever  to  see 
Basutoland  again.  When  I  think  of  Cecil  riding  back  now 
to — to "  And  she  broke  down  again. 

Chris  at  her  side,  put  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "Gwen,"  he 
said  gravely,  "I  think  this  is  the  first  big  sorrow  that  has 
come  your  way,  isn't  it?  Well,  little  girl,  when  you're  as 
old  as  I  you  may  know  more,  but  we  live  in  a  strange  world, 
Gwen,  God  knows  how  strange.  We're  here  for  a  flicker 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  251 

of  time,  no  more,  and  we  cannot  answer  a  single  question 
of  all  the  riddle  about  us.  Death  is  not  the  least  of  those 
riddles,  but  it  is  certainly  not,  it  seems  to  me,  the  greatest. 
After  a  while  one  comes  to  feel  that  it  is  perhaps  a  small 
thing,  smaller  than  birth  at  any  rate.  People  think  sur- 
prisingly little  about  bringing  a  child  into  this  world,  and 
surprisingly  much  when  God  calls  it  out.  To  my  mind,  life 
is  terrible,  not  death.  I  feel  as  sure  that  life  persists  as  I 
feel  that  I  live  now,  but  the  other  side  of  death,  life  is  in 
wiser  hands  than  ours.  Once  some  one  we  love  passes  over 
there,  it  is  time  to  dry  our  tears." 

"And  here  ?"  asked  Gwen  more  quietly. 

"Here?"  queried  Chris.  "Well,  here  it  is  a  queer  muddle, 
but  it's  a  great  adventure.  It's  so  great  an  adventure  that 
most  people  do  not  truly  dare  it.  Most  of  our  rules  and 
conventions  have  arisen  because  people  are  afraid  of  life,  of 
experimenting,  of  adventuring  out  bravely.  The  world  has 
tried  to  tuck  us  all  up  in  cotton-wool.  But  that's  a  poor 
business  and  we  get  nowhere  that  way.  Some  of  us  are 
beginning  to  see  it,  I  think,  and  that's  why  there  is  a  revolt 
to-day  against  conventional  things.  We  have  dared  to  ask 
'Why  ?*  to  half  the  prohibitions  and  behold  there  is  no  answer. 
Say  'Boo!'  boldly,  and  half  the  shrieking  horrors  turn  out 
to  be  babbling  geese.  In  a  way,  death  itself  sheds  its  awful- 
ness  and  its  power  to  affright  if  you  quietly  face  it.  Pamela 
and  I  are  both  made  that  way,  and  that's  why  even  a  little 
thing  like  this  trek  seems  simple  to  both  of  us.  The  world 
says:  'Oh  you  mustn't  do  it.  It  isn't  proper!'  and  we  say 
'Why?'  and  there's  no  answer!  Or  at  least  there's  no 
answer  that  cannot  be  settled  with  instantly  if  one  is  strong 
enough." 

Gwen  was  silent.  She  was  thinking  of  many  things.  And 
they  rode  up  so  to  a  gate  in  a  thin  fence  of  barbed  wire  which 
they  had  been  following  for  some  while.  The  orderly  stood 
dismounted  at  it,  and  Pam  and  Mr.  Eldred  were  already 
there. 

Pamela  turned  to  Chris,  smiling  amusedly.    "I've  had  a 


252  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

real  lecture,  Chris,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand  on  Mr.  Eldred's 
arm,  "and  I  know  Mr.  Eldred  too  well  to  mind  what  he  says 
to  me,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  to  take  no  notice  of  it.  So  I've 
promised  him  something.  When  we  get  to  Underberg  I'll 
wire  father — yes,  Mr.  Eldred  shall  see  the  telegram  and  agree 
that  it  is  plain  enough  and  honestly  non-committal.  He's 
staying  in  Durban,  you  know,  and  we  can  get  an  answer 
easily  by  to-morrow  morning,  possibly  to-night.  If  he  says 
it's  all  right  and  he  doesn't  mind,  I'll  go,  but  if  not,  I  won't. 
Is  that  all  right  ?" 

"You  must  forgive  an  old-fashioned  person,  Ashurst," 
said  Mr.  Eldred  before  Chris  could  reply.  "I've  known 
this  young  lady  a  long  time,  and  I  feel  I'm  in  some  sort 
responsible  for  her  up  here.  But  if  her  father  honestly 
has  no  objections,  of  course  it's  not  for  me  to  raise  any." 

Chris  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  gravely,  but  Pamela's 
smile  was  infectious.  "All  right,"  he  said,  "but  what  about 
our  orders  to  this  fellow  ?  He's  to  go  back  now.  He  can't 
wait  for  a  telegram." 

"Oh  I've  thought  of  that,"  said  Pamela.  "We'll  tell  him 
what  we  suggested  before,  but  add  this.  If  we  don't  get 
back  to  the  cave  by  to-morrow  night,  or  send  a  message,  our 
boys  are  to  turn  round  and  go  off  after  the  others.  They'll 
probably  catch  them  up.  Mr.  Mallory  told  the  police  not  to 
hurry  the  packs,  and  after  all  it's  only  a  few  hours  from 
the  Falls  to  here." 

It  was  agreed  so,  and  the  police  orderly  got  his  instruc- 
tions and  a  note  in  Sesuto  from  Pamela  to  her  own  boy 
whom  she  could  trust.  Then  he  turned  back,  and  the  four 
of  them  rode  on  alone.  It  was  lovely  descending  the  Pass, 
though  very  steep,  and  again  and  again  they  had  to  get  off 
and  lead  the  horses.  The  wind  did  not  reach  them  after 
they  had  dropped  the  first  five  or  six  hundred  feet,  and  the 
path  wound  in  and  out  of  rocks  and  scrub,  crossing  and  re- 
crossing  tiny  brawling  streams  and  skirting  detached  masses 
of  cliff  which  must  have  fallen,  in  long  ages  past,  from  the 
grim  mountains  on  either  side.  Under  one  such,  Pamela 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  253 

stopped  and  pointed  up  the  strewn  slope  which  led  to  its  base. 
A  black  opening  was  plainly  visible.  "That's  the  Bushman's 
cave,"  she  said ;  "shall  we  go  up  and  have  a  look  ?" 

Gwen  gave  a  little  shudder.  (Pamela  wondered  what  she 
would  have  done  if  she  had  known  what  Chris  and  she  her- 
self knew.)  "Oh,  no,"  she  cried.  "Isn't  that  your  Anubis 
cave,  Pam?  I  never  even  want  to  hear  of  it  again." 

Pam  glanced  at  Chris.  Her  eyes  queried  To-morrow?' 
He  smiled. 

The  sun  shone  on  them  right  into  the  valley,  but  as  they 
reached  the  river  below,  clouds  came  up  and  hid  it.  Chris 
glanced  up  at  them.  "We're  in  for  rain,"  he  said  to  Eldred. 
"Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

The  farmer  nodded.  "Looks  like  it,  but  I  hope  not  much. 
We've  some  way  to  go  yet,  and  it  will  be  awkward  if  it  does, 
for  these  rivers  come  down  so  quickly." 

They  could  ride  easily  now,  and  presently  emerged  into 
the  plain  at  the  foot  of  the  Pass  on  which  the  police  camp 
stood.  At  a  canter  they  rode  across  the  mile  or  two  which 
still  separated  them  from  the  house,  the  clouds  gathering  all 
the  time.  Thunder  rolled  up  the  Pass  they  had  left,  and 
big  drops  were  falling  as  Chris  led  the  way  in  between  two 
whitewashed  posts  and  up  to  a  rondhavel  with  a  notice  above 
it  to  the  effect  that  this  was  a  station  of  the  South  African 
Mounted  Rifles  and  Police.  He  knocked  at  the  door,  and  a 
man  in  undress  uniform  came  out.  The  rain  was  by  this 
time  falling  fairly  heavily,  and  the  girls  were  tugging  out 
mackintoshes  from  rolls  and  saddle-bags.  The  white  police 
sergeant  shouted  for  boys  who  ran  up  and  took  their  horses 
to  the  stables,  and  himself  led  the  way  to  his  house.  His 
wife  was  nursing  a  baby  in  the  front  room,  but  she  dis- 
appeared with  it  as  they  entered  and  returned  in  a  moment 
to  welcome  them.  As  they  sat  down,  the  rain  began  to  fall 
in  rods  on  the  iron  roof  and  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  talk. 

"It  can't  last  long  like  this,"  shouted  the  constable  to  Mr. 
Eldred  above  the  noise.  "Wait  an  hour  or  so  and  have  some 
tea.  I  expect  when  you've  had  a  cup  or  two  it  will  be  over." 


254  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"What  about  the  rivers  ?"  Eldred  shouted  back. 

"Oh,  nothing  to  worry  about.  You  only  cross  two  and 
both  high  up  not_far  from  here.  There's  a  bridge  over  the 
Umzimkulu  and  you  don't  reach  it  until  you're  dose  by 
Underberg." 

But  the  rain  did  not  cease.  After  a  while,  however,  it  did 
not  fall  quite  so  heavily,  and  they  sat  and  chatted  while  the 
man  told  them  of  his  lonely  service  up  there,  and  of  the 
tricks  of  the  native  and  occasional  white  liquor  runners  who 
made  a  profitable  job  of  smuggling  a  few  bottles  at  a  time 
of  execrable  brandy  across  the  border  into  the  Protectorate. 
According  to  him,  he  could  not  stir  out  without  notice  being 
given  by  sentinels  on  the  watch,  and  although  his  very 
presence  did  something  to  hinder  the  trade,  captures  were 
few  and  far  between.  He  had  made  one,  though,  the  week 
before.  Pretending  to  set  out  for  a  farm  in  one  direction, 
he  had  turned  on  his  tracks  under  cover  of  night  and  sur- 
prised a  convoy  on  the  very  edge  of  the  border  up  towards 
the  Sani  Pass.  He  had  collared  seventeen  bottles  of  the 
stuff  and  a  revolver,  he  said,  by  which  evidence  he  hoped  to 
lay  hands  on  a  local  native  sub-chief  suspected  of  the  traffic. 

But  still  it  rained.  It  was  pleasant  enough  to  sit  there 
dry,  chatting  and  drinking  the  hot  tea,  but  if  they  were  to 
get  to  the  railway  that  night,  they  must  go,  rain  or  no  rain, 
Eldred  and  Chris  took  many  journeys  into  the  open  to  look 
at  the  sky,  and  finally,  in  a  drizzle,  they  started. 

The  ground  was  very  wet  and  slippery,  the  grass  and 
bush  waist  high,  and  the  path  narrow.  Little  streams  were 
now  biggish  yellow  rivers,  and  the  crossing  of  them  no  easy 
job.  The  horses  slipped  about  on  the  hidden  stones,  and  one 
could  only  sit  tight  and  hope  for  the  best.  The  rain  came  on, 
worse  than  ever.  They  were  soon  wet  beneath  their  water- 
proofs, and  all  attempt  to  make  light  of  things  ceased  among 
them.  To  Gwen,  the  ride  fast  became  a  nightmare.  Chris 
rode  thinking  all  the  time  of  the  distant  Cecil  and  how  she 
was  faring  in  this.  Pamela  alone  seemed  fairly  indifferent, 
leading  the  way  half  the  time  and  making  all  speed  where  she 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  255 

could,  her  face  streaming  with  wet  but  her  cheeks  shining 
with  health. 

They  were  now  completely  out  of  the  Pass  and  on  the 
flat  veld.  The  mountains  stretched  behind  them,  black  with 
rainstorms  and  stabbed  with  lightning.  The  path  itself  was 
entirely  flooded  and  at  times  it  was  not  possible  to  see  the 
way  at  all.  Soon  they  were  riding  through  several  inches 
of  water  over  flooded  country,  Pam  still  a  few  yards  ahead, 
the  other  three  together  behind,  with  Chris  a  bit  in  advance 
on  Gwen's  right.  He  had  just  remarked  to  Eldred  that 
Pamela  seemed  much  more  sure  of  the  road  than  he  was, 
and  he  was  in  the  act  of  calling  to  her  to  take  care,  when 
the  thing  happened.  She  gave  a  sharp  exclamation  and 
appeared  to  try  to  rein  back  her  horse,  who  stood  a  moment, 
slithered,  shrieked  as  a  horse  will  in  sudden  peril,  and  then, 
with  its  rider,  plunged  forward  into  a  deep  hidden  pool  and 
literally  disappeared. 

Chris  was  off  in  a  second  and  floundering  on  foot  to  the 
place  where,  a  moment  before,  his  cousin  had  been.  He 
heard  Gwen  gasp  behind  him  and  Eldred  shout :  "Take  care. 
You'll  be  in  too!"  Then  Pamela  reappeared,  white,  her  hat 
gone,  cumbered  and  struggling  in  her  wet  riding  cloak,  her 
horse  swimming  beside  her. 

"Mind  his  hoofs!"  cried  Eldred  in  an  agony  behind  him, 
but  Chris  did  not  stay  to  think.  He  was  in,  and  the  thick 
turbid  waters  were  over  his  head.  There  was  thunder  in 
his  ears,  and  a  wall  of  yellow  liquid  about  him  for  what 
seemed  an  age,  and  then  he  emerged,  swimming  strongly  and 
making  for  the  figure  of  the  girl  who  was  half  under  water, 
with  her  cloak  burgeoning  out  over  her  from  the  air  im- 
prisoned beneath.  He  glanced  at  her  horse.  The  beast  was 
climbing  out  with  difficulty  in  the  sticky  mud,  and  the  current 
had  carried  his  rider  and  Chris  past  him.  already.  There 
was  no  danger  there  at  any  rate.  And  now  he  had  reached 
Pamela  and  was  fighting  with  the  folds  of  the  cloak.  Under 
again  for  a  moment,  the  water  half  choking  him ;  then  up — 
"Keep  still  a  moment,"  he  gasped — "hands  back,"  and  he 


256  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

tore  at  the  cloak.  The  girl  was  trying  to  stand,  but  the 
bottom  was  too  muddy.  Perfectly  cool,  she  held  her  arms 
up  and  back  to  give  him  the  help  with  her  cloak  that  he 
needed,  and  disappeared  afresh.  He  wrenched  off  the  mack- 
intosh with  an  effort,  and  went  down  again  after  her. 

It  seemed  an  eternity  before  they  were  out.  Eldred,  on 
the  other  bank,  could  give  no  help;  he  was  already  some 
hundreds  of  yards  down  looking  for  a  crossing;  and  Gwen 
had  hidden  her  face  in  her  hands.  One  arm  round  Pamela's 
waist,  Chris  fought  with  the  other  to  gain  a  grip  on  grass  and 
bushes.  And  at  last  it  was  done.  Nearly  exhausted,  he  half 
fell,  half  staggered  forward  on  the  soaked  grass,  gasping 
for  breath. 

Pamela  lay  still  beneath  him.  He  sat  up,  and  turned  her 
over.  She  had  fainted.  She  was  wearing  a  shirt  and  a  tie 
which  had  tightened  about  her  throat,  and  with  clumsy 
ringers  he  loosened  it,  opening  the  shirt.  Then,  with  dim 
remembrances  of  first-aid  lessons,  his  fingers  groped  on  her 
breast,  and  then,  with  his  hand  on  her  heart,  his  senses 
reeled  for  a  moment.  The  next  thing  he  knew  clearly  was 
the  sting  of  brandy  on  his  lips  and  Pamela's  own  voice  calling 
his  name. 

He  smiled  and  struggled  into  a  sitting  position.  "Oh,  all 
right,"  he  said  faintly. 

She  peered  into  his  face,  and  his  gaze  travelled  up  her 
loosened  disordered  dress,  her  white  throat,  her  face,  and 
stayed  on  her  eyes.  He  had  never  quite  realised  before  what 
eyes  Pamela  had.  He  looked  stupidly  into  them  for  what 
seemed  like  minutes.  "Oh,  all  right,"  he  said  again  dully. 

"Did  the  horse  kick  you  ?"  asked  Eldred  anxiously. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Chris,  still  half  dazed. 

Pamela  smiled.  She  was  fast  recovering.  "You'd  know 
if  he  had,"  she  said.  "See  if  you  can  get  up,  Chris.  We 
can't  stay  here." 

He  got  to  his  feet.  They  looked  a  comical  group  in  the 
still  falling  rain,  Pamela  with  her  hair  streaming  and  her 
clothes  still  disordered ;  Eldred  holding  the  brandy  flask  and 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  257 

bare-headed;  Gwen,  who  had  now  crossed  where  her  father 
had  discovered  a  passage  and  had  pluckily  collected  the 
horses,  white-faced  still,  and  trembling.  His  mind  cleared, 
and  he  burst  out  laughing,  in  which  Pamela  joined  him, 
buttoning  up  her  shirt. 

"What  a  fool  I  was,"  he  said.  "But  I'm  all  right  now. 
Jove,  that  was  a  flounder,  Pam!  Where's  your  mac.?" 

"There,"  said  Eldred,  pointing  to  it,  stranded  a  little  way 
downstream.  "I'll  get  it."  He  walked  towards  it. 

"Are  you  all  right,  Pam?"  asked  Gwen,  anxiously. 

"Quite,"  she  said.  "Thank  God  it's  not  over  cold.  But 
we  must  ride  to  keep  warm.  Can  you  manage  it,  Chris?" 

"Oh  rather,"  he  said,  himself  again  and  a  bit  ashamed  of 
his  momentary  weakness,  "if  you  can,  that  is.  There's  a 
farm  over  there.  Shall  we  go  to  it?" 

"And  cross  this  stream  again  ?"  laughed  Pamela.  "What 
do  you  say,  Gwen?" 

"Oh  I  daren't,"  said  the  girl.  "Let's  get  on :  we  are  sure 
to  pass  another  soon." 

It  was  Chris  who  helped  Pamela  to  mount,  and  in  the 
saddle  she  leaned  over  and  clasped  his  hand.  Her  touch 
recalled  to  Chris  how  a  few  seconds  ago,  his  fingers  had 
lain  on  her  breast,  and  the  colour  mounted  slightly  to  his 
face.  She  did  not  heed  it.  Bending  over  a  little,  she  looked 
steadily  at  him.  "Thanks,  Chris,"  she  said.  "You  saved 
my  life,  my  dear,  and  I  shan't  forget  it." 

At  the  moment  he  could  find  nothing  to  say.  He  was 
unlike  himself.  He  could  only  think  suddenly  that  she  was 
not  quite  the  Pamela  he  had  known  before.  And  there  shot 
through  his  brain  the  quick  remembrance  that  for  the  next 
fortnight  they  would  be  alone  together. 

"It  was  nothing,"  he  said,  "and  you'll  have  time  to  thank 
me  in  the  next  few  weeks." 

She  chuckled,  and  in  so  doing  seemed  to  him  at  once 
her  old  self  again.  "What  about  the  telegram?"  she  said. 
"Probably  father  will  forbid  it." 

Her  laugh  belied  her  words,  but  Chris  began  to  realise  that 


258  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

he  would  be  enormously  disappointed  if  it  turned  out  so. 

Hour  after  hour  they  rode  on.  Not  long  after  their  mis- 
hap, the  rain  ceased,  but  no  sun  came  out  and  the  roads 
were  very  wet.  The  horses  seemed  determined  not  to  travel 
quickly,  and  were  in  any  case  fairly  tired  with  the  previous 
trekking,  for  of  course  they  had  had  no  day's  rest,  and 
conversation  died  down  among  the  party.  Eldred  kept 
glancing  nervously  at  Gwen,  who  seemed  to  feel  the  cold 
and  damp  the  most.  But  the  wind  was  drying  their  outer 
garments  fairly  well.  Pamela,  despite  her  immersion,  seemed 
fit  enough,  and  neither  of  the  men  thought  of  themselves. 
The  day  began  to  die,  and  in  the  dusk  they  saw  at  last  the 
lights  of  Underberg.  It  is  a  railway  terminus  and  a  vastly 
important  place  in  that  part  of  the  world,  but  it  can  boast 
only  a  railway  station  and  two  cottages  for  officials,  and 
a  hotel  combining  bar,  farm,  store,  and  Post  Office,  some 
half  dozen  fields  away.  Thither  the  tired  party  made  their 
way,  and  dismounted  in  the  road  before  the  lights  of  the 
bar. 

"Now,"  said  Chris,  "drinks  first.  Yes,  for  all  of  us.  The 
boy  can  take  the  horses,  and  meantime  we  get  alcohol  into 
us  at  once." 

They  invaded  the  bar  and  found  a  pleasant  motherly 
woman  in  charge.  Hot  toddies  brought  colour  to  Gwen's 
cheeks  and  loosened  their  tongues.  "What  about  clothes?" 
demanded  Eldred.  "I  think  you  ought  both  to  go  to  bed." 

"Oh,  father,  no,"  cried  Gwen.  "We've  more  or  less  of 
a  change  in  the  saddle-bags,  and  my  skirt  is  dry  now  anyway. 
We  can  manage,  especially  if  we  can  get  our  wet  things  dried 
at  a  fire  for  to-morrow.  It  would  be  beastly  to  go  to  bed. 
What  do  you  say,  Pam?" 

"I  agree,"  said  Pamela.  "Tell  you  what,  we'll  put  on  our 
dry  pyjamas  next  our  skin  and  the  next  dryest  things  on 
them.  I've  got  a  blouse  and  skirt  in  the  bags,  too.  Besides 
I've  a  telegram  to  send,  and  I  shall  wait  up  for  an  answer." 

Eldred  flushed  a  little.  He  began  rather  to  wish  he  had 
said  nothing,  but  they  must  needs  all  troop  off  to  the  Tele- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  259 

graph  Office  which  was  part  of  the  little  general  store. 
Here  Pamela  composed  a  telegram,  with  much  pencil-sucking 
to  assist  her,  and  finally  read  it  in  triumph  to  the  rest  of  them. 
"Although  others  return  do  you  mind  Chris  and  I  trekking 
Free  State  together. — P.,"  she  had  written.  Eldred  agreed 
that  it  would  do,  and  they  moved  off  to  their  quarters.  Two 
rondhavels  standing  by  themselves  at  the  end  of  the  garden 
had  been  given  up  to  them,  and  here,  with  much  merriment, 
they  changed.  Chris  had  a  pair  of  slacks  and  a  shirt,  but 
was  forced  to  retain  his  jacket;  Eldred  found  his  riding 
breeches  fairly  dry  and  had  another  coat;  and  finally  the 
girls  emerged  in  a  mixture  of  raiment.  They  invaded  the 
little  dining-room  and  toasted  themselves  at  a  fire.  There 
was  no  one  there  at  first,  but  presently  Mr.  Saulson  put  in 
his  appearance  and  was  introduced  to  them. 

Saulson  was  a  character.  He  was  over  seventy,  white- 
haired  and  shabby,  and  he  wore,  except  when  actually  sitting 
with  ladies,  a  real  old-fashioned  Boer  hat  such  as  you  rarely 
see  these  days.  He  had  been  a  seaman,  miner,  waiter,  beach- 
comber, policeman,  journalist,  school-master,  Free  Church 
minister  and  finally  miner  again.  Indeed  he  had  been  miner 
in  between  whiles  as  well.  He  had  prospected  for  gold  in 
Australia,  the  Yukon  and  South  Africa,  but  he  had  never 
found  it.  Just  now  he  was  convinced  that  there  were  valu- 
uable  minerals  in  the  Drakensberg.  He  had  been  so  convinced 
for  a  couple  of  years  or  more,  and  he  was  waiting  in  Under- 
berg  for  someone  to  roll  up  who  could  also  be  convinced  and 
find  the  capital.  It  seemed  a  forlorn  hope,  but  he  waited. 
The  good  hostess  of  the  hotel  permitted  him  to  stay,  and 
pocketed  irregular  allowances  which  occasionally  drifted 
out  from  home.  In  a  word,  he  was  seventy  and  finished,  but 
the  kindliness  of  the  country  recognised  and  tolerated  him, 
instead  of,  as  in  older  lands,  recognising  and  kicking  him  out. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Natural  History  was  his  hobby.  He  could 
speak  of  trees  from  the  cedar  that  is  in  Lebanon  (which 
he  also  had  visited )  unto  the  hyssop  that  springeth  out  of  the 
wall,  and  he  could  discourse  of  beasts  and  of  fowls  and  of 


260  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

creeping  things  and  of  fishes.  In  Chris  he  found  a  ready 
listener,  and  after  a  while,  as  he  thought,  a  possible  financier. 
He  is  of  no  importance,  except  that  he  somehow  lent  Under- 
berg  a  character  in  the  eyes  of  the  party.  Years  afterwards 
Gwen  could  see  it  all  again :  Pamela  sitting  by  the  fire  nursing 
her  knees  and  gazing  into  the  flames ;  her  father  smoking  his 
pipe  amusedly  in  an  armchair;  herself  at  full  length  in  a 
steamer-chair  right  in  front  of  the  blaze;  Chris  by  her  side 
and  leaning  back  against  her,  lighting  cigarette  from  cigarette 
and  listening  chaffingly  with  occasional  questions ;  and  Saul- 
son,  who  had  resumed  his  hat  for  reasons  of  his  own,  bolt 
upright  in  the  corner  of  the  fireplace  opposite  Pam,  talking 
earnestly  and  striking  his  right  hand  into  the  palm  of  his 
left  from  time  to  time.  The  firelight  flickered  on  the  ceiling- 
board  walls  and  bare  wooden  floor,  and  on  the  iron  roof  the 
rain  had  begun  to  beat  again. 

Probably  she  dozed.  Her  mind  went  back  to  the  parting 
of  the  morning,  and  at  the  remembrance  she  caught  her 
breath  with  a  little  stab  of  pain.  She  seemed  to  see  Cecil's 
bent  slight  form  riding  away  in  the  grey  mist  with  the  two 
men  beside  her.  It  looked  horribly,  she  thought,  as  if  she 
were  a  prisoner  riding  to  some  awful  fate.  And  then  she 
pictured  the  trail  up  which  they  had  all  come  together  the 
day  before,  and  imagined  that  little  figure  riding  as  swiftly 
as  might  be  back  and  back  and  back.  Then  she  thought  she 
saw  Ronnie — and  here  no  doubt  she  was  asleep — Ronnie 
starting  to  cross  a  sunlit  road,  just  toddling.  His  nurse 
gossiped  with  a  black  boy  by  the  side  and  took  no  heed. 
Gwen  wanted  to  shout  and  could  not,  and  suddenly  round 
the  corner  came  the  motor,  nearer,  nearer,  louder,  louder — 
Crash !  She  awoke  with  a  little  cry  of  horror. 

Chris  turned  to  look  at  her.  "You've  been  asleep,"  he 
said.  "It's  only  the  girl  bringing  the  telegram  I  expect." 

Old  Saulson  had  gone  to  the  door  for  it  as  being  the 
nearest,  and  he  handed  the  flimsy  envelope  to  Pamela.  She 
tore  it  open,  and  laughed  her  chuckling  laugh.  Then  she 
glanced  swiftly  at  Chris  and  turned  to  Mr.  Eldred.  "It's 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  261 

rather  characteristic  of  father,"  she  said.  "Listen:  'Gen- 
esis xlv.  24.  "See  that  ye  fall  not  out  by  the  way."  Urfurd.' 
Does  that  satisfy  you,  Mr.  Eldred?" 

He  sighed  and  got  to  his  feet.  But  he  was  man  enough  to 
take  his  defeat  in  good  part.  "I  suppose  so,"  he  said.  "But 
we  shall  none  of  us  so  much  as  get  into  the  way  unless  we 
go  to  bed.  Gwen's  asleep  already,  or  was,  and  we're  all 
pretty  tired." 

They  lit  the  girls  to  their  rondhavel,  and  lingered  a 
moment  at  their  own  door.  There  was  a  fitful  moon  and 
the  rain  was  again  clearing.  "I  think  we've  had  the  worst 
of  it,  Ashurst,"  he  said.  "Poor,  poor  little  Cecil,  I  wonder 
where  she  is.  God  comfort  her  to-night." 

Chris  was  not  a  religious  man,  but  he  recognised  that  the 
other's  saying  was  more  than  a  conventional  commonplace, 
and  he  answered  it  solemnly.  "Amen,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  train  swung  round  the  bend  and,  at  the  turn,  Gwen 
leant  out  and  waved  her  hand.  Next  minute  it  was  out 
of  sight,  and  Pamela  and  Chris  turned  simultaneously  to 
one  another.  He  smiled  and  she  chuckled.  The  station- 
master,  wearing  a  heavy  overcoat  for  it  was  quite  cold  thus 
early,  trudged  past  them,  and  the  car  that  had  come  in  with 
passengers  from  Himeville  snorted  off.  The  two  walked 
away  together. 

"What  were  you  thinking  of  then?"  asked  Chris  as  they 
left  the  little  station. 

"Can't  you  guess?" 

"No."  ' 

Pamela  shrugged  her  shoulders  with  an  air  of  comic 
resignation.  "Well,  I  suppose  I  really  didn't  matter  to  you 
then  in  the  least,  cousin  Chris.  Or  perhaps  you've  been  to 
so  many  places  and  seen  so  many  people  since,  that  you've 
forgotten.  No,  I  won't  flatter  myself ;  I  think  it  is  the  first. 
But  you  mattered  a  good  deal  to  me  that  day." 

He  still  looked  puzzled.    "What  day,  Pamela?" 

"I  was — what?  goodness  knows! — thirteen  or  fourteen  I 
suppose,  and  father  and  I  were  staying  with  you  and  your 
people  in  Devonshire.  One  morning  early  our  respective 
fathers  went  to  town  and  I  was  left  for  a  whole  day  in  your 
care.  That  morning  there  was  nobody  on  the  station  when 
the  train  had  left  but  old  Jeremy  the  porter  and  we  two. 
Remember  now  ?  This  recalled  that." 

He  flushed  a  little  and  glanced  at  her  half  curiously. 
"You  are  a  queer  girl,  Pam,"  he  said.  "Why  do  you  remind 
me  of  that  now?" 

She  chuckled  again.  "You  still  don't  remember,"  she 

262 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  263 

said.  "Do  not  you  recall  how  you  abused  your  trust?  You 
kissed  me,  Chris,  that  day — for  the  first  and  last  time  I 
vowed  then  when  I  discovered  you  meant  nothing  by  it.  Of 
course  those  dears  don't  know  it,  but  that's  really  why  it 
is  possible  for  me  to  trek  with  you  for  a  week  or  more  across 
Basutoland,  accompanied,  chaperoned  and  otherwise  pro-, 
tected  only  by  two  natives." 

Chris  laughed  easily,  but  his  cousin  detected  the  incipient 
frown  that  puckered  his  forehead  ever  so  slightly.  She  knew' 
well  enough  that  she  had  already  struck  a  little  spark  which 
might,  she  thought,  if  she  wished,  flame  into  a  fire.  Chris 
felt  somehow  that  her  reminder  of  that  absurd  incident  of 
long  ago  was  by  way  of  a  slight  to  him.  He  had  not  found 
that  women  generally  refused  his  kisses;  in  fact,  had  any 
other?  Not  that  he  wanted  to  kiss  Pamela;  he  had  done 
with  all  that  for  Cecily's  sake;  but  his  conceit  did  not  like 
the  situation.  He  should  have  been  the  one  to  refuse,  not 
Pamela.  And  yet  Pamela  had  as  good  as  told  him  that  it 
was  because  he  was  and  could  be  only  a  good  companion  that 
she  had  ventured  on  this  trek.  Being  Chris,  he  naturally 
frowned — ever  so  slightly  of  course.  But  he  wished  to  see 
his  virtue,  not  hers,  come  triumphant  from  the  situation. 

Pamela  need  not  have  been  the  least  anxious  lest  he  should 
see  through  her  subtlety.  She  was  far  too  deep  for  him. 
The  game  she  had  set  herself  to  play  for  Cecily's  sake  had 
been  well  started,  and  his  slight  frown  augured  well  for  its 
success. 

So,  a  couple  of  hours  later,  they  set  off  on  their  return  to 
the  Berg.  The  sky  was  grey  and  sullen,  but  it  was  not 
actually  raining,  and  the  boy  with  the  spare  horses  rode  in 
front.  Pamela  was  by  far  the  more  gay  of  the  two,  for  the 
thought  of  Cecil  travelled  every  foot  of  the  way  with  Chris. 
She  saw  soon  enough  what  lay  uppermost  in  his  mind  and 
did  not  hesitate  to  speak  of  it.  They  were  breasting  a  hill 
together  at  foot  pace  when  she  asked  abruptly: 

"Did  you  have  that  talk  with  Cecil  which  you  promised 
me,  Chris?" 


264  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

He  nodded,  but  did  not  speak. 

"And  the  result?" 

There  was  no  reply  for  a  few  minutes,  but  Pamela  waited 
expectantly.  Then  Chris  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her, 
and  their  eyes  met  steadily.  "Pam,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  can 
trust  you — indeed  I  know  I  can.  Cecil  had  but  just  prom- 
ised to  come  away  with  me  when  Sinclair  and  Eldred  rode 
up  to  her  with  that  ghastly  news." 

"I  guessed  so,"  said  Pamela. 

"Why?" 

"Oh  from  a  few  words  that  Cecil  said  to  me  in  the  tent 
when  I  went  in  to  her." 

"What  did  she  say?"  he  demanded. 

Pamela  settled  herself  in  the  saddle,  having  reached  the 
top  of  the  rise.  "Nothing  much,"  she  said.  "You  can  surely 
guess  that  the  poor  child  was  far  too  upset  to  talk  coherently 
about  anything." 

"By  God,  yes,"  said  Chris,  a  trifle  hoarsely.  "You  were 
right,  Pam.  I  couldn't  have  ridden  back  with  them  to  Ram- 
atseliso's.  I  should  have  had  her  in  my  arms  before  the  end 
despite  Hugh,  and  God  knows  what  would  have  happened 
then.  You've  no  idea  how  much  I  love  her." 

Pamela  glanced  at  him  curiously.  "Well,  Chris,"  she  said, 
"and  how  do  you  think  this  affects  your  plans?" 

"It  doesn't  affect  them  at  all,"  he  said  quickly,  "or  at  least 
it  only  delays  them.  You  know  well  enough  that  I  mean  the 
little  chap  no  harm  and  that  I  don't  really  speak  callously, 
but  if  anything,  Ronnie's  death  just  clears  the  road.  Noth- 
ing remains  but  the  solid  fact  that  that  marriage  was  not 
made  in  heaven.  They  are  utterly  unsuited  to  each  other, 
and  Cecil  went  into  it  too  young  to  know  her  own  mind.  She 
knows  it  now,  thank  God;  I  believe  she  loves  me  with  her 
whole  heart.  And  I  love  her,  Pam — you've  no  idea  how  I 
love  her — and  when  a  necessary  few  months  have  gone  by, 
I  shall  go  up  again  and  claim  her.  How  I  shall  manage  to 
wait  that  time,  I  don't  know,  but  this  I  know :  Cecily  and  I 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  265 

are  pledged  to  each  other  and  nothing  shall  come  between 
us." 

The  girl  did  not  attempt  to  contradict  him,  and  no  trace 
of  her  thoughts  appeared  on  her  face.  A  couple  of  big 
locust  birds,  feeding  on  the  veld,  rose  heavily  at  their  ap- 
proach and  flapped  across  the  path  ahead  of  them.  She 
watched  them  idly.  When  they  had  settled  again,  she  spoke. 

"So  you  are  quite  sure  it  will  make  no  difference?" 

"Quite,"  he  said  emphatically,  "why  should  it?" 

"Why  indeed?"  said  Pamela,  and  lapsed  into  silence 
again. 

"If  only  I  could  have  got  a  word  with  her  at  parting!" 
burst  out  Chris  suddenly.  "Pam,  I  hope  to  God  I  don't 
have  to  go  through  another  twenty-four  hours  like  that! 
To  see  her  ride  away,  utterly  stricken  with  sorrow,  and  at 
parting  not  to  be  able  to  say  a  word !  But  she'll  write.  Does 
Hugh  see  all  her  letters  ?" 

"I  think  so.  Till  you  came,  she  was  far  too  unsophisti- 
cated to  have  any  other  arrangement  with  her  husband." 

Chris  digested  this  in  silence.  Then:  "But  you  could 
send  a  message  for  me  ?  Possibly  he  would  not  want  to  see 
your  letter." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  say?" 

"Only  that  I  hope  with  all  my  heart  that  she  will  write 
to  me.  You  could  say,  in  case  he  sees,  that  I  was  very  cut 
up,  and  that  you  know  how  much  I  should  like  a  word. 
She'll  understand.  I'll  write  to  Hugh  myself,  of  course, 
as  soon  as  I  can — a  friendly  letter  of  sympathy,  I  mean. 
But  I  can't  write  such  a  letter  to  her.  Will  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Pamela,  "but  I  shouldn't  expect  her  to  say 
much,  if  I  were  you.  She's  a  poor  correspondent." 

Silence  again  for  a  while.  Both  were  busy  with  their 
thoughts.  Then,  on  a  level,  they  broke  into  an  easy  canter 
side  by  side,  and  Chris  said : 

"Look  here,  Pam,  what  do  you  think  of  all  this  yourself  ? 
Now,  I  mean.  Do  you  think  I'm  a  beast  and  a  cad?" 


266  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"Good  Lord,  no,"  she  replied  quickly.  "I'm  no  conven- 
tional saint,  Chris,  and  certain  aspects  of  the  case,  touching 
Hugh,  I  know  you  regret  as  much  as  possible.  But  there 
they  are,  and  you  can't  help  them.  Of  course  Ronnie's 
death  is  a  horrible  tragedy,  especially  at  a  moment  like 
that,  but  naturally  neither  you  nor  she  were  in  the  very  least 
responsible.  That  goes  without  saying.  And  I  think  very 
little  of  that  marriage  either,  although  .  .  ."  And  she 
hesitated. 

"Yes?"  he  queried. 

"Well,  it's  useless  talking  to  you  of  Cecil.  You've  your 
own  ideas  and  you're  very  much  in  love  with  her.  But  if 
Cecil  is  not  cut  out  for  Hugh,  I  tell  you  honestly,  Chris,  I'm 
not  so  sure  she  is  cut  out  for  you  either.  You  can  over- 
talk  her  and  persuade  her,  and  you've  thrown  a  glamour 
over  her.  But  you're  late  in  the  day,  and  Cecil  is  funda- 
mentally a  woman.  Your  ideas  of  women  and  hers  are  not 
the  same.  You're  a  modern ;  she's  as  old  as  the  hills,  child 
as  she  is.  You're  not  dealing  with  a  modern  girl,  or  a 
woman  emancipated.  .  .  ." 

"Thank  God  for  that !"  broke  in  Chris  quickly. 

Pamela  laughed  heartily.  "Chris,"  she  said,  "you're  an 
amazing  person.  If  you  were  not  at  this  moment  very 
much  in  love,  you'd  see  the  absurdity  of  yourself !  That's 
honest.  Here  are  you,  breaking  in  on  Cecil  with  all  your 
modern  ideas  on  marriage  and  morality,  and  yet  you  thank 
God  that  Cecil  is  not  emancipated !  Why,  you've  been 
down  on  your  knees  to  her  for  days,  begging  her  to  emanci- 
pate herself !" 

Chris  looked  a  little  foolish.  But  he  rallied  stoutly.  "Oh 
well,"  he  said,  "I  didn't  mean  that  sort  of  emancipation.  I 
thought  you  referred  to  the  kind  of  female  one  meets  in 
town  these  days  who  is  as  cool  as  a  cucumber  with  men  and 
apparently  has  no  primitive  instincts  left." 

"Well,"  replied  Pamela,  "you  can't  have  it  all  ways,  my 
dear.  I  take  it  you  want  Cecil  to  emancipate  herself  from  what 
you  would  call  civilised  conventions  and  get  back  to  primitive 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  267 

instincts.  You  say  she  has  promised  a  course  of  action 
which  is  to  all  intents  and  purposes  to  do  so.  Good,  but 
are  you  quite  so  sure  that  you  know  what  primitive  in- 
stincts in  a  woman  are?  You're  mighty  clever  if  you  do! 
There's  a  damn  lot  of  talk  these  days  about  primitive  in- 
stincts, and,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  precious  little  understand- 
ing of  them."  And  Pamela's  hands  tightened  involuntarily 
on  her  rein,  so  that  her  pony  tossed  his  head  and  had  a 
little  to  say  on  primitive  instincts  himself. 

When  he  was  quietened,  Chris  rode  up  alongside  again. 
"What  do  you  know  about  them,  anyway?"  he  queried 
quizzically. 

But  Pamela  had  recovered  herself.  "Enough  to  know  that 
there  is  a  great  deal  I  do  not  know,"  she  said  with  her 
chuckle.  "Enough  not  to  worry  much  about  them,  anyway. 
People  who  possess  them  must  work  the  problem  out. 
They're  bigger  than  we  are,  Chris,  but  woman's  instincts  are 
queer  things.  There  was  Nanea's  husband,  for  example." 

"I  didn't  know  she  had  one,"  said  Chris. 

"Nor  she  has,  now.  He  died  of  the  influenza,  unwept  and 
unsung.  He  was  about  as  old  as  Sekeke,  her  father,  and  she 
did  not  care  a  mealie  stalk  for  him.  She  loved  Ungugu  in- 
stead. So  one  dark  night,  Ungugu  crept  into  her  hut  and 
struck  a  knife  into  her  husband  before  the  law  which  he 
thought  (and  she  thought)  finished  him,  only  he  was  a 
tough  old  thing,  and,  besides  that,  destined  for  the  flu.  But 
what  do  you  suppose  Nanea  does?  Reap  the  fruit  of  his 
labour  in  peace  ?  Not  at  all.  She  threw  herself  into  the  arms 
of  Ungugu  and  while  he  was  kissing  her  stuck  a  second 
knife  into  his  ribs.  He  wasn't  so  tough  as  the  other,  and 
besides  he  was  not  destined  for  the  flu.  Then  she  went  out 
and  called  her  father." 

The  ghost  of  Nanea's  lover  would  probably  have  thought 
that  Chris  laughed  heartlessly.  "But  you  don't  suppose 
Cecily  will  dig  me  in  the  ribs?"  he  demanded.  "Besides, 
why  in  the  world  did  Nanea  do  it?" 

Pamela  smiled.    "No,"  she  said,  "I  don't.    And  I  don't 


268  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

know  why  Nanea  did  it  either.  Primitive  instincts  of  a  wife, 
I  suppose.  Unless  it  was  a  little  game  of  Haketsebe's." 

Chris  shifted  his  reins  into  his  other  hand  and  felt  for  his 
tobacco  pouch.  Then  he  sighed.  "Well,  Pam,"  he  said, 
"let's  change  the  subject.  I'm  glad  we've  had  this  talk,  and 
I'm  very  grateful,  dear,  that  you  are  Cecily's  friend  and  on 
our  side.  One  thing  I  know.  I  shall  go  and  fetch  Cecil 
in  a  few  months'  time  with  a  couple  of  steamer  tickets  in  my 
pocket.  She'll  not  refuse  me  then.  I  know  she  won't.  And 
then  for  Paradise." 

"I  thought  the  gates  were  guarded,"  said  Pamela  drily. 

"Yes,  to  that  ancient  place.  But  we  shall  make  our  own, 
and  a  better." 

"Sure  Cecil  will  think  it  better?" 

"By  God,  she  will,"  swore  Chris  earnestly. 

Pamela  said  nothing. 

The  little  stream  that  had  been  a  torrent  twelve  hours 
before  and  had  threatened  to  bar  Chris  out  of  his  new 
Paradise  as  effectively  as  the  flaming  sword  of  the  old,  was 
now  no  more  than  a  stream  again.  They  crossed  it  easily, 
and  on  the  far  side  had  lunch — the  remains  of  a  cold  chicken 
from  the  hotel,  some  excellent  cheese  and  a  flask  of  whisky. 

Pamela  regarded  the  brook  before  her  meditatively. 
"That  was  a  near  enough  thing,  Chris,"  she  said.  "I  remem- 
ber your  reaching  me,  and  that  you  wrenched  off  my  mac., 
but  not  much  else.  The  next  thing  I  knew  was  the  taste 
of  brandy  and  the  sight  of  your  face  looking  pretty  ghastly. 
Now  if  you  had  not  come  in  for  me,  I  wonder  where  I  should 
have  been  by  this  time  ?" 

Chris  threw  a  chicken  bone  into  the  water.  "Where  time 
is  no  more.  Making  daisy  chains  in  heaven,"  he  said  lightly. 

She  smiled,  but  did  not  take  up  his  jest.  "It  seems  to 
me  such  an  adventure  that  I'm  almost  sorry  I  did  not  under- 
take it,"  she  said. 

Chris  dropped  his  banter.  "I  know,"  he  said,  "I've  felt 
that  same  myself.  If  I  don't  just  now,  it's  for  obvious 
reasons.  I  want  to  live  a  few  months  more  and  live  them 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  269 

quickly,  and  besides  it's  only  due  to  you  to  say  that,  that 
apart,  I  can  hardly  imagine  anything  better  than  this  little 
jaunt  of  ours.  You're  a  rattling  good  pal,  Pamela." 

She  turned  her  head  deliberately  towards  him,  and  it 
dawned  on  him  again,  suddenly,  what  a  desirable  person 
she  was.  Her  narrowed  eyes  smiled  into  his.  There  was 
something  in  her  face  and  particularly  in  those  eyes  that 
made  him  want  to  kiss  her.  He  put  the  idea  instantly  from 
him  as  he  would  never  have  done  a  couple  of  weeks  before, 
but  the  thought  had  been  there,  and  in  that  moment,  while 
the  water  murmured  in  the  reeds  and  the  wind  sang  softly 
across  the  veld,  their  wills  met  for  the  first  time  of  the  many 
to  follow  in  the  days  that  were  coming.  It  was  scarcely 
more  than  the  salute  of  fencers,  and  Chris  did  not  trouble 
himself  to  enquire  why  he  should  have  felt  a  crossing  of 
the  swords  at  all ;  but  it  was  there.  Pamela,  probably,  did 
not  in  the  least  expect  him  to  kiss  her,  and  therefore  she 
had  no  sense  of  defeat,  but  she  knew  well  enough  that  he 
had  thought  of  it  at  her  look.  That  was  enough.  She  re- 
plied to  his  compliment.  "Thanks,"  she  said. 

Chris  leant  on  his  arm,  regarding  her.  His  eyes  travelled 
covertly  down  her  figure,  and  his  senses  stirred  a  little. 
"Yes,"  he  said  again,  "I'm  jolly  grateful  I  fished  you  out. 
You're  too  good  to  lose,  my  dear.  I  wouldn't  have  missed 
this  business  for  anything." 

She  chuckled.  "Oh  that's  why  you  are  glad  you  fished 
me  out,  is  it  ?"  she  said.  "That's  a  back-handed  sort  of  com- 
pliment, Chris.  But  tell  me,  you  rebel  against  most  of  the 
accepted  beliefs  and  practices,  where  do  you  suppose  I 
should  have  gone?" 

He  shifted  his  look  to  the  flowing  water.  "Frankly,"  he 
said,  "I  haven't  the  least  idea.  That  you — your  real  self — 
would  have  gone  somewhere,  I  don't  doubt  for  a  moment. 
The  extinction  of  life  seems  to  me  utterly  inconceivable. 
I  find  no  difficulty  in  believing  in  the  immortality  of  the 
soul,  indeed  my  difficulty  lies  in  thinking  that  the  smallest 
insect  that  creeps  or  flies  is  not  immortal.  Of  course  what  I 


270  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

question  in  their  case  is  the  consciousness  of  life,  and  if  theirs 
is  a  life  that  has  never  been  conscious  of  a  distinct  existence 
at  all,  as  seems  possible,  maybe  it  will  simply  pass  back,  so 
to  speak,  to  the  reservoir  of  life,  whatever  that  may  be,  like 
a  drop  of  water  that  sparkles  a  moment  in  the  sun  and  falls 
back  into  the  sea." 

"Wherefore?"  she  queried. 

"Well,  therefore,  we  at  any  rate  go  on  living.  Where, 
I  don't  know.  How,  I  don't  know.  Why,  I  don't  know. 
Personally  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  down  here  we  simply 
cannot  know  those  things.  Just  as  a  fish,  even  if  endowed 
with  reason,  could  hardly  conceive  of  our  life,  so  I  think  we 
cannot  conceive  of  our  own  life  hereafter.  It  will  be  of 
another  order  of  things.  That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Pamela  reached  for  another  cheese  sandwich.  "I  know 
what  you  mean,"  she  said.  "I  read  a  novel  the  other  day 
which  imagined  life  in  Arcturus.  It  was  jolly  clever,  but 
towards  the  end  your  brain  fairly  went  on  strike.  There 
was  so  much  in  Arcturus  totally  unlike  the  things  of  Earth 
that  the  author  had  to  invent  new  names  and  phrases  to  de- 
scribe them.  But  it  conveyed  nothing  to  me.  There  were 
new  colours,  but  to  be  told  that  'jale'  bears  the  same  relation 
to  blue  as  red  does  to  green  fails  to  give  me  any  idea  as  to 
jale." 

Chris  nodded.  "And  St.  John,  being  wiser  than  your 
author,  said  there  was  gold  in  Heaven  because  it  would  have 
been  quite  useless  to  call  it  jale." 

"I  regret  the  loss  of  the  streets  of  gold,"  said  Pamela. 

Chris  laughed.  "Cheer  up,"  he  said.  "Gold's  only  a 
certain  combination  of  positive  and  negative  electrons,  and 
who  can  say  that  electrons  will  not  be  in  Heaven !" 

"Pass  me  that  flask  of  whisky,"  said  Pamela.  "It's  my 
turn.  Thanks.  Chris,  what  about  Spiritualism?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "It's  beyond  me,"  he  replied. 
"A  lot  of  fraud  and  a  substratum  of  truth,  I  think.  But 
most  of  the  jargon  is  impossible.  I  should  insult  my  friends 


[THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  271 

to  think  that  their  spirits  would  think  or  act  as  those  fellows 
say." 

Pamela  was  silent  At  last  she  looked  up.  "So  that's 
all?"  she  queried. 

"What  else  is  there?"  retorted  Christopher. 

"Nothing  in  life  has  taught  you  to  say  more?"  she  per- 
sisted. 

"No,"  he  said,  plainly  a  little  bewildered. 

"Let's  get  on,  then,"  said  Pamela,  abruptly. 

It  was  a  curious  business,  this  work  of  retracing  their  foot- 
steps without  the  others,  and  curious,  too,  how  different  the 
aspect  of  everything  was  to-day.  Yesterday  the  Range  had 
lain  behind  and  had  been  shrouded  in  rain-clouds;  to-day, 
though  sullen  and  unrelieved  by  sun,  it  lay  ahead,  and  hour 
by  hour  they  drew  nearer  to  it.  Their  spirits  rose  distinctly 
with  the  miles.  Pamela  was  happiest  on  mountains,  and  the 
wilder  they  were,  the  better  she  liked  them;  Chris,  too, 
albeit  he  by  no  means  despised  the  advantages  of  civilisation, 
liked,  as  he  had  once  put  it,  to  sleep  some  months  in  the  year 
under  the  stars.  The  Drakensberg  were,  moreover,  a  new 
experience  to  them  both,  and,  unlike  last  week,  they  would 
have  fewer  servants  about  them  and  be  more  on  their  own. 
Thus,  near  the  police  station,  when  Chris  reined  up  and 
suggested  a  call,  Pamela  vetoed  it  heartily.  "There's  no  sign 
of  life,"  she  said,  "and  I  expect  he's  out." 

"But  his  wife  will  be  in,"  objected  Chris,  "and  it  seems 
decent  to  call." 

"Hullo !"  cried  Pamela.  "The  man  of  conventions  again, 
eh?  Let's  call  by  all  means." 

That,  of  course,  settled  it,  and  they  rode  on.  The  gloomy 
day  was  gloomier  in  the  Pass,  and  Pamela,  after  glancing 
again  and  again  at  her  companion,  burst  out  into  a  laugh. 

"What  is  it  now?"  demanded  Chris,  amused. 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  gasped  Pamela,  "this  is  rather  priceless 
you  know.  Here  are  you  and  I  riding  together  into  the 
unknown.  Red-hot  from  caves  and  ghosts,  we  are  now 


272  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

riding  up  a  gloomy  Pass  to  sleep  in  a  ghost  cave  and  venture 
forth  into  these  mountains  to  seek  fate.  If  our  boys  knew 
what  we  know — or  at  least  what  I  know — do  you  suppose 
that  they  would  come  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  They'd  think  I  was 
a  witch  and  you  a  devil." 

"Probably  they'd  be  right  in  the  identifications,  to  some 
extent,"  said  Chris  smiling.  "But  what  do  you  know  espe- 
cially?" 

"Well,"  replied  Pamela,  "you  remember  Auntie  Tot,  don't 
you?  She  has  her  stories  of  this  Pass."  And  she  related 
to  him  the  old  servant's  history  as  far  as  she  knew  it.  She 
narrated  well.  Something  of  the  pitiful  mystery  of  it  all  fell 
on  Chris. 

"It's  a  ghastly  old  world,"  he  said.  "Think  of  those  days, 
eh?  Think  of  that  armed  gang  travelling  through  the 
night,  possibly  to  this  very  cave,  and  then  the  red  cold 
massacre,  and  the  ride  back  in  the  morning  with  the  naked 
captive  children  crying  for  fear  and  being  silenced  with 
blows." 

"Yes,"  said  Pamela,  "and  think  of  what  these  old  moun- 
tains have  seen  besides  that.  What  primitive  races,  do 
you  suppose,  lived  here  when  the  world  was  young?  Who 
knows  what  monsters  used  this  valley  as  their  lair  ?  Think 
of  those  Bushmen  coming  from  God  knows  where,  blot- 
ting out  the  poor  creatures  called  human  to  whom  even 
they  were  a  higher  type,  and  then  taking  possession  to  live 
their  day  and  go  the  way  of  the  rest  in  the  end  thereof. 
And  all  the  time  those  old  heights  have  looked  on  im- 
movable, and  if  a  crag  now  and  again  toppled  crashing 
into  the  valley,  it  was  not  to  punish  a  murder  or  to  answer 
a  prayer.  But  see,  there's  Philip.  Our  crowd  are  here 
all  right  then.  We  must  dismount  here.  Philip'll  take  the 
horses." 

They  got  off  and  commenced  to  climb  up  to  the  cave 
above.  The  hill-side  was  steep  and  broken  and  it  was  no 
easy  task,  save  that  bushes  and  scrub  gave  some  help  by 
lending  a  grip  here  and  there.  There  was  no  path  to  speak 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  273 

of,  and  sugar-bush  and  dwarfed  trees  grew  right  up  to 
the  cave  itself.  Some  fifty  feet  below  it,  they  did  how- 
ever stumble  on  a  tiny  trail  made  by  herd  boys  for  their 
goats,  and  this  they  followed,  winding  in  and  out,  until 
a  turn  showed  them  the  cave's  mouth  ahead  and  slightly 
lower  than  the  level  at  which  they  now  stood.  There  was 
a  fire  already  burning  in  the  entrance,  and  the  Urfurds' 
other  boy,  with  the  native  who  had  gone  on  ahead  of  them 
with  the  Eldreds'  horses,  was  squatting  before  it. 

The  two  natives  got  up  when  they  saw  them.  Pamela 
asked  after  the  other  horses,  and  she  was  told  that  they 
were  pasturing  in  a  fold  of  the  hill  behind  the  kopje  of 
which  the  actual  cave  was  a  part.  She  and  Chris  entered 
and  looked  curiously  around.  The  place  was  not  unlike 
Pamela's  own  cave  on  the  Umtamvuna,  that  is  to  say  it 
was  more  a  great  sloping  hollow,  with  a  wide  mouth  which 
rapidly  narrowed  and  did  not  extend  far  back,  than  what 
is  called  a  cave  in  England.  The  ground,  however,  did 
not  slope  from  the  mouth  as  did  Pamela's,  but  stretched 
smooth  and  soft  and  level  to  the  rocky  wall  where  smaller 
hollows  made  door-less  chambers  in  the  gloom.  They 
entered,  and  Chris  got  a  candle  out  of  a  pack-saddle  to 
allow  of  a  detailed  examination.  Its  flickering  light  fell 
on  the  rough  walls  and  scared  a  flight  of  bats  far  over- 
head. But  it  showed  clearly  enough,  at  the  back  of  the 
larger  of  the  interior  rooms,  a  great  surface  liberally 
drawn  with  figures  in  black  and  red  and  scarcely  defaced 
at  all.  The  chief  scene  from  those  far  vanished  days  evi- 
dently depicted  a  hunt.  Plainly-figured  wildebeest  and 
other  buck  fled  in  a  herd  before  human  figures  armed  with 
bows.  One  beast  was  down,  with  an  arrow  sticking  in 
him,  and  another  was  in  the  act  of  leaping  high  over  its 
fallen  companion.  They  looked  at  this  in  silence  for  awhile, 
and  then  Pamela,  sharp-sighted  and  knowing  besides  what 
to  expect,  told  Chris  to  carry  the  light  on  a  bit  farther. 
Here  a  crude  and  amazing  beast  stood  by  itself.  It  was 
probably  meant  for  a  hippo.  Still  farther,  and  not  con- 


274 

nected  with  it,  were  more  human  figures  obviously  fighting, 
and  it  was  here  that  the  jackal-headed  creature  was  drawn 
again  as  on  the  Umtamvuna,  but  this  time  mingling  appar- 
ently with  the  men. 

"If  it's  Anubis,  I  suppose  you  might  call  him  the  son 
of  the  devil,"  said  Chris. 

"No,"  said  Pamela,  "I  don't  think  so.  It's  not  quite 
that.  Set  was  not  the  devil  as  we  understand  that  gentle- 
man. It's  a  different  conception.  He  was  god  of  the  evil 
world — not  this  world,  but  the  world  of  evil.  Perhaps  his 
son  is  more  like  our  idea  of  fate,  but  mingling  among  men 
and  driving  them  on  to  their  deeds  of  crime  and  shame. 
Still,  perhaps,  the  world  of  evil  is  after  all  meant  to  be 
this  world,  and  perhaps  Anubis  still  moves  amongst  us  all, 
though  we  call  him  by  different  names  and  make  no  at- 
tempt to  picture  him." 

Chris  laughed.  "You're  a  cheerful  companion  for  a 
night  in  a  gloomy  cave,"  he  said. 

"Your  nerves  can  stand  it,"  retorted  Pamela.  "All  the 
same,  I  wish  we  had  Nanea  here.  I'd  like  to  see  if  Haket- 
sebe  would  recognise  the  place.  Suppose  we  hypnotise  one 
of  the  boys  to-night?  Philip  might  do;  he's  a  trustful 
creature  and  knows  me  well.  Or  let  me  try  on  you.  Think 
how  entrancing  it  would  be,  Chris !" 

He  looked  at  her  across  the  candle  which  was  burning 
smokily  with  an  over-long  wick.  Her  narrowed  eyes  glit- 
tered in  the  light  and  there  was  the  suspicion  of  a  mocking 
smile  about  her  mouth.  But  as  he  looked,  her  expression 
changed.  Everything  unpleasant  died  rapidly  out  of  it. 
The  smile  widened  and  her  lips  parted  slightly.  It  struck 
him  again  how  red  they  seemed  to  have  become.  And  he 
smiled  back  at  her. 

"Where  are  you  going  to  sleep?"  he  asked.    "Here?" 

She  glanced  round.  "I'll  undress  here,"  she  said,  "and 
Philip  shall  bring  my  bags  in.  That  corner  of  rock  is  quite 
a  good  screen,  and  the  hollow  beyond  shall  be  my  dressing- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  275 

room.  But  I  prefer  to  sleep  where  I  can  see  the  stars  and 
not  this  roof  of  rock.  Let's  go  and  choose  a  place." 

They  walked  to  the  entrance  again,  and  away  to  the  left 
found  a  perfect  place — perfect,  at  least,  if  it  did  not  rain. 
The  cave  rapidly  narrowed  here  and  became  a  mere  shelf 
of  rock,  fringed  at  the  edge  with  grass  and  bushes  and 
loose  stones,  and  allowing  plenty  of  room  to  lie  down. 
The  rock-side  was  broken  into  small  recesses  or  pockets 
which  would  do  admirably,  Chris  said,  for  matches  and 
candle  and  cigarettes.  Some  twenty  feet  above,  the  roof 
sloped  slightly  over  and  formed  a  protection  from  any 
light  rain,  but  the  wide  expanse  of  valley  and  sky  stretched 
away  before  them.  Moreover  it  was  a  kind  of  cul-de-sac. 
One  could  approach  from  the  cave  proper,  but  not  go  on 
far  beyond.  The  shelf  ended  in  a  breakaway  of  the  cliff, 
which  fell  steeply  a  hundred  feet  or  more. 

"If  it's  all  one  to  you,  Chris,"  said  Pamela,  "I  shall  use 
the  room  in  the  cave  for  dressing  but  spread  my  blankets 
here.  And  if  you  put  yours  on  the  cave  side  of  me,  I  shall 
be  as  safe  as  possible,  and  we  can  converse  in  the  mid- 
night hours  if  Anubis  prevents  our  sleeping!" 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Chris  amusedly.  "I  shall  use  it, 
however,  as  bedroom  and  dressing-room  combined  if  you've 
no  objection.  That  is  to  say,  unless  it  rains.  Then,  I  take 
it,  we  shall  both  have  to  invade  the  main  cave.  Where 
will  the  boys  sleep?" 

"Oh  down  there,  round  the  fire.  And  now,  since  the 
daylight,  such  as  it  is,  is  fast  departing,  what  about  a  kit 
inspection  ?" 

For  the  next  half  hour  they  were  busy.  Their  personal 
effects  were  carried  to  their  respective  dressing-rooms,  and 
Pamela  inspected  all  the  stores.  Philip  turned  out  to  be 
a  first-class  cook.  The  Eldreds'  boy  had  been  sent  by  him 
up  the  Pass  with  a  water-bottle,  and  he  now  returned  with 
it  full  of  milk  which  he  had  got  from  herd-boys  in  a  kraal 
up  there.  Philip  had  brought  on  from  the  Tselike  the  best 


276  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

part  of  a  sheep  presented  to  them  by  the  local  chief,  and 
they  finally  sat  down  to  soup,  chops  and  fried  potatoes,  and 
coffee,  to  which  Chris  added  a  liqueur  of  brandy  from  the 
bottle  in  the  pack.  They  had  to  have  candles  before  they 
had  finished;  and  they  sat  on  afterwards,  smoking  ciga- 
rettes and  scarcely  speaking,  while  the  boys  built  up  the 
fire  from  time  to  time  with  brushwood  which  flared  high 
for  a  minute  or  two  before  dying  down  to  a  dull  red  glow, 
and  threw  ruddy  shadows  over  the  cave  and  the  mountain- 
side. Now  and  again  stars  appeared  in  the  sky,  twinkled 
for  a  while,  and  then  were  dimmed  out  silently  by  masses 
of  slow-moving  clouds.  Little  sounds  came  up  to  them — 
the  far-away  murmur  of  the  stream,  the  bark  of  a  dog 
probably  at  the  kraal  of  the  herd-boys,  and  the  occasional 
voices  of  their  servants  speaking  in  musical  Sesuto. 

Chris  drew  a  deep  breath  at  last,  and  reached  for  his 
pipe.  "Lor',  but  this  is  good,  Pam,"  he  said,  and  there  was 
an  affectionate  ring  in  his  voice.  "I  owe  this  to  you,  d|ld 
girl." 

She  did  not  at  once  reply.    Then:  "And  fate,"  she  said. 

Chris  struck  his  match  and  it  burned  steadily.  "Wind 
has  dropped,"  he  said. 

"Which  means  the  likelihood  of  more  rain,"  said 
Pamela. 

"Don't  suggest  it,"  he  replied,  "or  else  touch  wood,  if 
there  is  any  to  touch.  But  seriously,  Pam,  why  in  the 
world  do  any  of  us  ever  live  in  towns  and  habitations?" 

She  chuckled.  "You'll  be  glad  enough  to  get  back,"  she 
said.  "Clubs,  Chris,  and  theatres  and  champagne  and  Pic- 
cadilly Circus  and " 

"Oh  don't,"  he  cried;  "it's  profanation!" 

"Men  are  easily  profane,  I've  noticed,"  said  Pamela 
drily.  "  'Specs  it's  natural,'  as  Topsy  said." 

Chris  smoked  on  in  silence.  As  if  the  gods  had  heard 
him,  the  wind  got  up  far  away.  African  travellers  know 
the  kind  of  thing.  For  some  unknown  reason,  it  came 
blowing  across  the  face  of  the  earth,  first  a  mere  whisper 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  277 

far  far  off,  a  sigh,  scarcely  that.  Then  nearer  and  nearer, 
ever  more  and  more  strong,  rustling  the  grasses,  blowing 
the  acrid  smoke  of  the  fire  across  them,  moaning  in  the 
rocks,  howling  down  the  Pass ;  and  then  passing,  more  and 
more  faint,  till  it  died  absolutely  away.  Its  last  voice  was 
the  echo  of  a  breath  among  the  distant  mountains. 

"Anubis  passes,"  said  Pamela  in  a  low  tone. 

It  affected  Chris  far  more  than  he  cared  to  acknowledge. 
He  glanced  almost  apprehensively  behind  him,  and  he  was 
far  from  jesting.  "One  might  believe  anything  up  here," 
he  said. 

"Even  in  heaven — or  in  hell,"  said  Pamela  in  the  same 
tone. 

"Or  in  purgatory,"  said  Chris,  with  sudden  bitterness. 

"Why  purgatory?"  queried  the  girl. 

The  man  moved  restlessly  and  knocked  out  the  dottle  of 
his  pipe.  "Oh,"  he  said,  "that  wind  is  like  the  sighing  of 
souls  outside  the  gates  of  paradise." 

Pamela  made  a  slight  change  in  her  position  and  slipped 
her  hand  into  his  arm.  "Poor  old  Chris,"  she  said. 

He  felt  the  light  touch,  «but  he  did  not  move.  Seconds 
slid  by,  and  thoughts  raced  in  both  their  minds.  Pamela's 
were  infinitely  more  deliberate;  Chris's,  questioning,  dubi- 
ous. In  the  end,  they  irritated  him.  "Let's  turn  in,"  he 
said.  "It'll  be  warmer  in  the  blankets." 

Pamela  laughed  quietly  and  withdrew  her  hand,  jump- 
ing to  her  feet.  "Heavens!"  she  exclaimed,  "I'm  quite 
stiff!  I  wonder  if  Philip  has  arranged  my  bed." 

The  two  moved  together  to  the  ledge  and  inspected  it  by 
the  light  of  matches.  The  two  valises  lay  side  by  side  not 
a  foot  apart,  the  top  string  of  each  undone  and  the  blankets 
within  turned  invitingly  back.  Chris  smiled  under  cover 
of  the  dark,  but  Pamela  was  quite  unperturbed. 

"Do  you  snore,  Chris?"  she  asked.  "I  think  I  won't 
risk  it.  Take  my  outfit  by  the  head,  will  you,  while  I  take 
it  by  the  feet,  and  move  it  a  bit  farther  away.  Yes,  that 
will  do  nicely.  No,  there's  a  stone,  of  course,  selecting  to 


278  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

lie  exactly  where  will  shortly  be  the  small  of  my  back. 
That's  better.  And  now  I'll  withdraw  to  my  dressing- 
room.  How  long  will  you  be?  There's  no  door  for  me 
to  knock  upon  before  I  come  in." 

"I  shall  probably  be  between  the  blankets  before  you've 
done  to  your  hair  whatever  you  do  at  night  in  the  wilder- 
ness," he  said,  laughing. 

But  he  exaggerated  a  little.  For  one  thing  he  had  to 
find  convenient  holes  for  so  many  things — studs  and  socks 
and  the  contents  of  his  pocket.  Then,  when  he  had  drawn 
off  his  shirt,  he  stood  bare-backed  in  the  night  air  for  a 
few  minutes,  hidden  there  out  of  sight  of  the  main  cave. 
The  wind  caressed  his  skin  and  he  stretched  his  arms  out 
above  his  head.  The  silent  sleeping  valley  lay  at  his  feet 
and  the  sky  was  clearing  again.  Christopher  Ashurst  had 
ceased  to  pray,  but  a  thought  flashed  through  his  mind  as 
he  stood  there,  drinking  in  the  serene  beauty  of  it  all  and 
the  tonic  of  the  night  air.  In  his  own  modern  way,  he  was 
saying  his  prayers.  A  movement  below  struck  on  his  ear, 
and  he  glanced  to  the  right.  Philip,  in  his  blankets,  dimly 
seen  in  the  light  of  the  fire,  was  kneeling  before  he  too 
turned  in.  Chris  watched  him  a  minute,  and  then  he 
reached  for  his  pyjama  jacket  and  got  between  the  bed 
clothes. 

"Chris?"  called  Pamela,  inquiringly. 

"Yes." 

"Are  you  in  bed  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Right;  then  I'm  coming." 

He  watched  her  shadowy  figure  emerge  from  the  cave 
and  come  towards  him.  She  stepped  over  his  feet,  a  seem- 
ingly tall  figure  against  the  far  sky,  and  he  moved  his  head 
ever  so  little  to  watch  her  step  into  her  valise.  She  se- 
renely shed  her  dressing-gown,  folded  it,  and  put  it  into  the 
bag  beneath  the  head  of  her  sleeping-outfit.  Then  she 
groped  for  a  moment  and  drew  out  a  cigarette  case.  "I 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  279 

must  have  one  more  before  I  really  try  to  go  to  sleep,"  she 
said.  "Will  you?" 

".No,  thanks,"  said  Chris.    "Don't  set  yourself  afire." 

"No  fear,"  she  replied,  and  struck  a  match.  Its  light 
revealed  her  face,  her  braided  hair  hanging  over  her  shoul- 
der, and  her  slight  figure  in  her  pyjamas.  Then  it  died  out, 
and,  in  the  contrasting  blackness,  Chris  could  not  see  her 
actually  get  into  bed.  But  as  her  rustling  died  down,  the 
glow  of  her  cigarette  showed  her  to  him  again,  well  tucked 
in,  her  right  arm  under  her  head,  and  her  left  hand  outside 
manipulating  the  cigarette.  He  watched  its  glowing  end 
for  a  few  minutes  and  then  laughed. 

"What's  up  now  ?"  she  queried. 

"I  was  thinking  how  delightfully  improper  all  this  is," 
he  said. 

She  chuckled  in  the  darkness.  "Oh  rubbish,"  she  re- 
plied. "Improper?  Not  a  bit.  Mrs.  Grundy  might  think 
so,  but  then  Mrs.  Grundy  is — well,  Mrs.  Grundy.  We've 
done  positively  nothing  improper.  You  haven't  even  kissed 
me  good-night.  Why,  considering  that  we  are  cousins, 
you  might  easily  have  made  that  excuse!" 

Chris  was  conscious  again  of  that  slight  irritation  he  had 
felt  in  the  morning.  "You're  always  insisting  on  the  cous- 
inship,"  he  said,  "and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it's  second  or 
once  removed  or  something,  isn't  it?  Besides  it  was  only 
this  morning  you  told  me  you  had  kissed  me  for  the  first 
and  last  time." 

Pamela  chuckled  again.  "Perhaps,"  she  said,  banter- 
ingly.  "But  I  didn't  say  anything  about  your  kissing  me. 
Or  does  it  take  two  to  make  a  kiss?  I've  had  so  little 
experience." 

Chris  suddenly  and  acutely  remembered  recent  kisses. 
"Don't,  Pam,"  he  exclaimed,  half  involuntarily. 

"Oh  I'm  so  sorry,"  she  said  quickly,  in  quite  another 
tone  of  voice.  "Forgive  me,  Chris." 

He  warmed  at  her  words.    "It's  all  right,  dear,"  he  said. 


280  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Her  cigarette  glowed  for  the  last  time  as  she  drew  on 
it,  and  then  disappeared  as  she  ground  out  the  red  hot  end 
in  the  sandy  earth  by  her  side.  In  the  darkness  she  rustled 
about  a  little  again,  and  then  was  still. 

"Good-night,  Chris,"  she  said. 

"Good-night,"  said  he 

Miles  away,  Cecil,  unable  to  sleep,  moved  ever  so  quietly 
in  bed  lest  Hugh  should  still  be  awake.  Her  wet  handker- 
chief was  a  crushed  ball  in  her  hand.  She  could  not  get 
the  words  she  had  heard  that  day  out  of  her  ears.  A  voice 
seemed  to  drone  them  endlessly.  "I  am  the  Resurrection 
and  the  Life,"  it  said.  "The  Resurrection  and  the  Life; 
and  the  Life;  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life;" — oh,  end- 
lessly. 


CHAPTER  III 

CHRIS  dreamed  that  he  was  swimming,  and  he  revelled 
in  the  cool  sting  of  the  water.  He  got  out  on  some 
sort  of  a  rock  for  a  dive,  and  then  Cecil  appeared  suddenly 
and  began  to  splash  him.  He  jumped  into  the  sea  to  clasp 
and  duck  her,  and  awoke.  It  was  light,  and  a  small  rain 
was  falling  on  his  face.  Also  he  was  cold.  He  swore 
gently  and  looked  round  for  Pamela.  She  was  still  asleep, 
for  since  she  had  been  lying  nearer  the  rock  than  he  her 
face  was  hardly  wet.  He  slipped  out  of  his  valise,  put  on 
a  Burberry  over  his  pyjamas,  and  went  over  to  the  boys. 
Philip  was  up  and  making  a  fire.  With  his  help,  Chris  got 
out  a  small  patrol  tent,  inserted  its  poles,  and  carried  it  like 
an  umbrella  to  Pamela.  She  was  apparently  dead  asleep, 
and  he  thought  as  he  looked  at  her  how  tired  she  must 
have  been.  Without  waking  her,  they  rigged  the  tent  up 
more  or  less  securely  so  that  it  sheltered  her  valise,  and 
Chris  threw  another  blanket  gently  over  her  body. 

Then  he  surveyed  the  world  at  large  more  carefully,  but 
it  was  rather  a  dreary  prospect.  Rain-mists  hid  the  farther 
side  of  the  valley  and  Philip  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that 
it  would  be  wet  all  day.  So  Chris  decided  to  vent  his 
wrath  on  something.  He  put  a  towel  round  his  neck  as  a 
muffler  under  his  Burberry,  took  his  gun,  rolled  up  his 
pyjama  trousers  to  the  knee,  slipped  on  an  old  pair  of 
slippers,  and  left  the  cave.  For  half  an  hour  he  toiled 
among  slippery  wet  rocks  and  grass,  but  he  got  warm  in 
the  process  and  begar  to  realise  that  it  was  all  very  lovely 
anyhow.  The  valley  was  clean,  silent,  wild,  and  the  air 
invigorated  him.  At  last  he  reached  the  river  and  had  two 
shots  at  doves  as  they  flew  up  from  the  willows.  His  first 

281 


282  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

shot  missed,  but  his  second  brought  down  a  couple.  One, 
of  course,  fell  into  the  river.  The  pool  into  which  it  drifted 
was  deep  and  calm,  well  ringed  with  great  rocks  and  trees, 
and  very  tempting,  despite  the  rain,  to  the  man  warmed 
with-  exercise.  He  thought  he  would  fulfil  what  he  could 
of  his  dream,  threw  off  his  things,  and  took  a  cautious 
header  into  the  pool.  It  was  not  a  bit  too  cold,  and  very 
refreshing.  He  swam  a  few  yards,  turned  on  his  back, 
kicked  up  the  water  in  a  cloud  of  spray  for  the  sheer  joy 
of  living,  rolled  over  again,  and  made  with  a  swift  trud- 
geon  stroke  for  the  bank.  Seizing  a  willow  branch,  he 
pulled  himself  half  out  of  the  water  and  found  himself 
staring  into  the  amused  eyes  of  a  couple  of  native  women 
closely  wrapped  in  blankets. 

These  incontinently  fled.  Chris  finished  pulling  himself 
out  with  a  laugh,  towelled  down,  and  resumed  his  pyjamas 
and  mackintosh.  He  strung  his  birds  together,  picked  up 
his  gun,  and  set  off  down  the  course  of  the  stream  feeling 
himself  a  kind  of  Robinson  Crusoe. 

There  had  been  a  rift  of  blue  in  the  sky,  but  when  he 
regained  the  cave  even  that  had  disappeared.  The  rain 
was  falling  distinctly  heavily.  He  threw  the  birds  to  Philip 
and  entered  the  mouth  of  the  cave  to  find  that  the  boys 
had  laid  out  his  clothes  on  his  valise  with  the  contents  of 
his  pockets  from  the  rock  face  of  the  sleeping  place.  Pam- 
ela was  not  to  be  seen,  and  he  began  to  dress,  and  was 
fastening  his  braces  when  he  heard  her  laugh  behind  him. 
She  was  standing  in  her  'dressing-room/  half  in  and  half 
out  of  the  'door/  wearing  a  kimono  and  brushing  her  hair. 

"Hullo,"  he  said,  "good-morning.  I  wondered  if  you 
were  awake,  or  if  you  had  gone  inside  to  finish  your  sleep." 

"Well  I  am  awake,"  said  Pamela.  "Isn't  it  a  beastly 
morning?  What's  to  be  done?" 

"Have  breakfast,"  replied  Chris.  "I'm  dying  of  hunger. 
Are  you  nearly  ready?  It's  not  half  as  bad  out  as  it  looks/' 

"Five  minutes,"  she  called,  and  disappeared. 

They  discussed  porridge  and  eggs  and  bacon  not  with- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  283 

out  a  certain  return  of  good  humour.  "Really,"  said  Chris, 
"it's  rather  amusing.  What's  to  be  done?  as  you  rightly 
say.  I  suppose  we  can,  one,  go  back;  two,  stay  here;  three, 
go  on.  What  do  you  say?" 

"No,  to  the  first,  emphatically,"  she  replied,  slapping 
marmalade  on  to  bread  and  butter.  "Why  should  we  go 
back?  Are  you  bored  with  me  already?  No;  well,  then, 
we  don't  go  back;  that's  settled.  As  to  going  on,  I  vote 
we  ask  Philip.  He'll  have  views.  He  has  some  sense,  that 
boy." 

"Right,"  said  Chris.     "Philip  r 

"Baas!"    He  came  running  up. 

"What's  to  be  done?"  demanded  Chris.  "Shall  we  go 
on?  How  far  can  we  get  in  this  rain  and  where  shall  we 
camp  to-night?  Do  you  know  another  cave?" 

The  boy  grinned  after  the  manner  of  his  kind.  "Other 
cave  much  too  far/'  he  said.  "Road  very  bad,  and  rivers 
very  full  in  Sehonghong.  We  go  on  if  baas  wishes,  but  I 
think  it  will  rain  all  day  to-day  and  all  to-morrow.  If  baas 
go,  we  camp  in  rain — very  bad  for  missus.  Very  cold  up 
there  too." 

"There  you  are,"  said  Pamela.  "That's  my  view.  Also, 
why  go  on?  We  have  plenty  of  food,  plenty  of  fuel  here, 
a  dry  place,  and  lots  of  time.  I  vote  we  wait  till  the  rain 
stops  if  we  wait  a  week !  Give  me  a  cigarette." 

Chris  smiled  and  handed  her  his  case.  "Very  well, 
Philip,"  he  said,  "you  hear  the  words  of  the  missus.  The 
other  boy  had  better  go  and  see  if  the  horses  are  all  right, 
and  you  can  think  of  a  good  dinner  for  to-night." 

"Boy  been  already,"  said  Philip.  "What  baas  say  to  stew 
to-night?" 

Pamela  chuckled.  "The  day  of  stews  now  begins,"  she 
said.  "We'll  leave  that  to  you,  Philip." 

"Right,  missus,"  he  said,  and  withdrew. 

Chris  commenced  to  fill  his  pipe.  "And  what  do  we  do  ?" 
he  demanded.  "Sit  here  all  day?  There  are  cards  in  the 
pack;  we  can  play  picquet." 


284  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"And  I  can  tell  your  fortune,"  she  replied,  "but  not  now. 
I  suggest  that  we  assume  bathing  kit  and  macs.,  and  go  off 
for  a  walk  and  a  bathe.  Also  explore.  The  mud  won't 
matter ;  the  world  is  before  us ;  and  no  one  about  or  likely 
to  be." 

"I've  bathed  once,"  he  said,  "and  had  an  audience  of  two 
native  women.  I  was  au  naturel,  too." 

She  smiled.    "But  you  can  watch  me  this  time,"  she  said. 

They  went  off  finally  together,  to  the  amusement  of  £he 
natives  who  saw  no  necessity  for  such  exertion,  but  spent 
the  morning  exploring  mutton  bones  for  their  marrow. 
Chris  had  had  no  morning  quite  like  it  in  all  his  life  and 
began  to  wish  it  would  rain  for  a  fortnight.  In  the  valley 
they  shed  and  hid  their  clothes  under  a  great  rock,  and, 
with  their  exercise,  they  were  warm  enough  and  were  con- 
tinually half  in  and  half  out  of  the  water.  They  dived  for 
white  stones  in  the  pools,  swam  to  little  beaches  ungetatable 
except  by  water,  discovered  a  forest  of  bamboo  through 
which  they  wandered  with  the  world  out  of  sight,  climbed 
high  crags  over  the  stream,  and  lay  half  exhausted  after  a 
swimming  race  on  a  bed  of  pure  white  sand.  Pamela  was 
wholly  in  her  element.  In  her  tight-fitting  simple  bathing- 
suit,  with  bare  strong  arms  and  legs  and  her  hair  in  one 
thick  plait,  she  looked  like  a  nymph  of  the  stream.  She 
was  well  knit  like  an  athlete  rather  than  full- formed,  her 
breasts  firm,  her  shoulders  grace  and  strength.  Chris,  in- 
deed, had  had  no  idea  how  strong  she  was  or  how  thor- 
oughly at  home  in  such  surroundings.  She  knew  the  names 
of  all  the  birds  and  plants  and  the  uses  to  which  the  natives 
put  them.  She  was  not  in  the  least  like  a  man  companion, 
but  she  was  equally  unlike  any  other  girl  he  had  met.  This 
was  exactly  how  he  would  have  liked  to  have  spent  a  day 
with  Cecil  and  how  he  knew  she  would  have  liked  to  have 
spent  it  with  him.  Yet  he  knew  that  even  she  would  not  in 
some  ways  have  been  so  ideal  a  companion  as  Pamela 
proved  herself  to  be.  She  would  not  have  forgotten — or 
apparently  have  forgotten — her  sex  as  Pamela  did.  He 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  285 

knew  well  enough  that  they  would  not  have  gone  far,  but 
on  some  such  bed  as  this  have  spent  the  hours  in  each 
other's  arms.  At  the  thought  he  hid  his  face  in  his  hands, 
but  raised  it  in  a  minute  to  look  at  Pamela  and  wonder 
if  she  would  have  cared  so  to  spend  it  with  anyone  as 
well. 

She  lay  at  the  moment  face  downwards  on  the  sand, 
resting  on  her  elbows  and  digging  idly  in  it  with  her  fin- 
gers, her  toes  delving  into  the  soft  stuff  also.  Her  usually 
rather  colourless  face  was  flushed  with  exercise  and  wet 
with  rain,  and  if  no  one  would  ordinarily  call  her  beautiful, 
her  figure  at  any  rate  was  such,  and  her  features  at  least 
intensely  interesting. 

"Penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  Chris  suddenly,  like  a 
boy. 

She  propped  her  face  on  a  sandy  hand  and  looked  up  at 
him,  her  eyes  narrowing  and  a  smile  of  amusement  gather- 
ing at  her  mouth.  "Worth  more,"  she  said. 

"How  much  ?" 

"More  than  you  have  to  give,  Chris,"  she  said  enigmati- 
cally. 

"Pam,  you're  a  beast.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  was  think- 
ing? I  was  wondering  whether,  if  I  were  an  artist  in 
paint  and  not  in  print,  I  could  get  you  to  pose  for  me.  If 
I  asked  it  of  you,  would  you  pose  for  me  in  the  nude?  Or 
would  your  unconventionality  stop  short  at  that?" 

"I  was  inclined  to  say  right  off  that  I  would  certainly," 
she  said  after  a  second's  hesitation  that  had  in  it,  however, 
no  sign  of  embarrassment,  "but  I'm  not  quite  sure,  to  be 
honest." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because,  perhaps,  I  can't  think  of  you  as  an  artist.  I 
very  much  doubt  if  v/>u  could  be  one.  I  doubt  if  you  could 
treat  me  as  a  model.  An  artist,  for  whom  I  would  pose 
without  a  second's  hesitation,  would  see  my  body  as  a 
beautiful  natural  thing,  and  as  nothing  more.  So  far  as 
I  am  concerned,  he  might  do  so,  and,  far  from  minding,  I 


286  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

should  think  it  a  great  honour  to  inspire  a  good  picture. 
But  you  would  see  me  as  a  nude  woman  known  to  you,  as 
Pamela  Urfurd  without  her  clothes.  And  I'm  not  sure 
that  I  would  permit  that." 

Chris  was  distinctly  annoyed  again.  "Do  you  know,"  he 
said,  "that  you've  said  several  beastly  things  to  me,  fair 
cousin,  since  we  started  on  this  excursion.  Do  you  hon- 
estly think  I'm  such  a  rotter  as  all  that?" 

"I  never  said  you  were  a  rotter,"  she  retorted. 

"You  implied  it." 

"I  did  not.  I  told  you  that  I  thought  you  were  not  suf- 
ficiently an  artist  for  such  a  test  with  me.  That  is  so.  You 
are,  I  fancy,  very  much  of  a  man.  I  do  not  even  neces- 
sarily like  you  the  less  for  it." 

"So  you  were  not  sure  whether  or  not  you  would  pose 
for  the  mere  man,"  said  Chris  slowly,  staring  at  her. 

Pamela  made  no  reply.  She  merely  raised  her  eyes  and 
looked  at  him,  with  her  head,  characteristically,  slightly  on 
one  side. 

To  do  Chris  justice,  that  look  was  a  surprise  to  him.  He 
had  not  angled  for  it.  But  being  Chris  he  could  hardly  fail 
to  respond — or  so  at  least  she  thought.  He  moved  dis- 
tinctly nearer  to  her  and  put  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "Eh, 
Pamela?"  he  said  softly.  "Would  you?" 

She  chuckled.  "Well,  at  any  rate,  I  am  not  sure"  she 
repeated,  and  rolled  over  in  the  sand  on  to  her  back,  put- 
ting one  hand  beneath  her  head,  stretching  the  other  arm 
out  to  its  full  extent,  and  lazily  watching  her  fingers  as 
she  opened  and  shut  them. 

There  was  such  abandon  in  her  pose,  such  insinuation  in 
her  words,  that  the  blood  pounded  in  Chris's  temples.  He 
half  moved  towards  her,  and  then,  suddenly  and  incon- 
sequently,  recalled  Cecil.  He  ceased  to  move,  and  lay  quite 
still.  The  blood  ebbed  from  his  face.  It  was  Pamela's 
turn  to  be  surprised,  and  she  turned  her  head  to  look  at 
him.  "You're  very  silent  all  of  a  sudden,"  she  said  smil- 
ing. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  287 

He  jumped  suddenly  to  his  feet.  "God!"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  believe  you're  half  a  devil,  Pamela !" 

She  was  not  in  the  least  annoyed.  "Possibly,"  she  said, 
"half  devil  and  half  woman.  Which  half  do  you  want, 
Chris?  Or  is  the  combination  so  displeasing?"  And  with 
her  little  chuckle,  she,  too,  leaped  up,  lithe  and  unexpected, 
ran  swiftly  forward  and  dived  suddenly  far  out  into  the 
stream  at  their  feet,  cleaving  the  water  with  scarcely  a 
splash,  a  train  of  little  bubbles  rising  where  she  had  dis- 
appeared. 

Chris  hesitated  a  moment  on  the  brink  and  then  went 
in  after  her.  Down  in  the  cool  green  depths,  gliding  to 
the  full  extent  of  his  plunge,  he  was  conscious  of  a  revul- 
sion of  feeling.  "Cecily,  Cecily  darling,"  he  whispered  to 
himself,  "I  won't  forget."  But  he  hated  himself  as  he 
realised  how  near  a  thing  it  had  been. 

Pamela  was  wise  enough  to  see  that  she  had  gone  far 
enough  that  morning,  and  after  lunch,  she  remained  in  the 
cave  making  a  careful  sketch  of  the  Bushman  paintings 
while  Chris  departed  up  the  sides  of  the  pass  with  his  gun 
to  have  a  shot  at  the  rock  pigeons.  It  was  dusk  when  he 
returned,  exceedingly  pleased  with  a  big  bag.  Then  they 
sat  on  the  ground  together  and  had  sundowners,  while 
Philip  developed  immense  activity  and  prepared  roast 
pigeon  for  their  evening  meal.  It  was  a  great  success,  and 
afterwards,  by  the  light  of  a  candle-lantern,  they  played 
their  picquet.  Pamela  held  all  the  cards  however,  so  that 
the  game  palled  on  them  both  in  a  little  and  they  agreed 
mutually  and  without  words  to  stop  it.  Pamela  sat  there 
idly  shuffling  the  cards,  and  at  length  looked  up  slantwise 
at  her  companion  who  was  staring  out  into  the  night,  his 
thoughts  far  away.  "Come,  Chris,"  she  said,  "I'll  tell  your 
fortune." 

He  rolled  over  towards  her,  amusedly.  "All  right,"  he 
said,  "what  do  I  do?  Cross  your  hand  with  silver?" 

"Oh  no.    Shuffle  well  and  cut,  that's  all." 

He  did  so,  and  lay  watching  her  long  thin  fingers  dealing 


288  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

out  seven  small  packs.  "The  first  is  yourself,"  she  said, 
dealing  it,  "the  second  your  house,  the  third  your  friends, 
the  fourth  what  is  coming  to  you,  the  fifth  is  certain  to 
come  true,  the  sixth  is  your  wish,  and  the  last  and  seventh 
only  the  dealer  may  see." 

"Oh  rot,"  he  said.    "I  want  to  see  that  as  well." 

"Well  you  can't.  And  if  you  do,  the  whole  thing  will 
be  meaningless." 

Chris  roared  with  laughter  so  that,  in  the  silent  night, 
the  boys  around  the  fire  turned  their  heads  momentarily  to 
watch.  "I  might  as  well  look  then,"  he  said. 

Pamela  smiled  secretly.  "Have  you  wished?"  she  de- 
manded. 

Chris  sobered  suddenly.     "Yes,"  he  said  shortly. 

Pamela,  her  eyes  on  his  face,  shrugged  her  shoulders 
ever  so  slightly  but  said  nothing  to  that. 

"Well,"  she  went  on,  still  looking  at  him,  "what  are  you, 
I  wonder?  Let  me  see,  the  king  of  diamonds  I  should  say. 
Yes,  and  you  cut  up  in  the  first  pack;  with  a  very  fair, 
almost  red-haired  woman,  I  should  think — not  rich,  young. 
Now  for  your  home — why  this  is  funny — it's  at  sea,  I 
think;  let  us  say  a  ship — and  here's  the  girl  again,  and 
there's  love  between  you,  a  kiss  at  any  rate." 

Chris  gave  a  little  exclamation.  Pamela  looked  up  at 
him,  very  solemnly.  "One  never  can  tell  if  it's  past  or 
future  at  first,"  she  said.  "Have  you  any  idea?" 

Chris  bit  his  lip  in  the  dark.  "I'm  quite  sure  it's  a  lot 
of  rubbish,"  he  said. 

Pamela  chuckled  interiorly  (if  there  is  such  a  thing). 
She  was  wickedly  enjoying  herself  for  she  was  well  aware 
that  he  could  not  possibly  divine  how  she  would  know  any- 
thing of  this.  She  took  up  the  next  pack.  "The  fourth 
shows  us  what  you  will  not  get,  as  well  as  what  you  will, 
and  I  much  fear,  Chris,  that  that's  the  red-haired  girl. 
There's  no  trace  of  her.  There's  a  lot  of  money  in  it 
though,  and  a  journey,  so  I  dread  lest  you  are  going  to  be 
insufferably  rich  and  will  probably  go  on  some  journey  or 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  289 

other  that  you  expect  or  plan.  That's  all  I  can  see  there. 
The  fifth  is  certain  to  come  true.  Hum — hum.  I  don't 
quite  understand.  There's  a  birth  in  it,  and  a  letter — oh, 
I  can't  read  that!  The  sixth  is  your  wish.  Well,  you're 
here  anyway,  between  two  women,  both  dark — the  very  fair 
one  has  quite  gone,  I  fear,  Chris.  And  that  card's  your 
wish.  It's  curious,  its  being  placed  like  that.  It's  doubt- 
ful still,  I  think,  but  more  likely  to  come  true  than  not. 
There's  a  man  mixed  up  with  it,  but  not  exactly  interfer- 
ing. Yet  he  seems  to  have  control  of  the  situation.  But 
it's  these  women  whom  I  can't  understand.  It  looks  almost 
as  if  either  might  give  it  you  or  perhaps  either 
prevent  it.  Best  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  women,  Chris 
— which  is  good  advice  but  difficult  for  a  person  like  your- 
self to  follow.  And  the  seventh,  the  dealer  alone  may  see." 
And  she  picked  up  the  cards  and  fell  to  studying  them, 
keeping  their  backs  towards,  him. 

Chris  made  a  sudden  snatch  at  them,  but  she  was  too 
sharp  for  him,  flinging  them  quickly  on  the  pack  and 
hastily  confusing  it.  He  laughed,  with  a  slight  note  of 
vexation  in  his  merriment.  Pamela  drew  up  her  legs  and 
clasped  her  hands  round  her  knees.  "You  might  at  least 
say  thank  you,"  she  said. 

"Do  you  really  believe  that  rubbish,  Pam?"  he  de- 
manded. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  To  herself  she  said  silently, 
"Everything's  fair  in  love — and  war." 

"You're  an  odd  girl,"  he  went  on,  "but  it's  curious  with 

the  cards  how  sometimes,  almost And  all  races  have 

believed  in  them,"  he  added  meditatively.  Then,  turning 
sharply  to  her,  "Look  here,  Pam,  what  do  you  really  make 
of  those  words  of  Haketsebe's:  'The  weak  shall  be  strong 
and  the  strong  shall  be  weak.'  She  certainly  seemed  right 
over  the  Falls  of  the  Tselike  for  it  was  emphatically  a  place 
of  fate.  But  which  of  us  did  she  mean  by  the  rest  of  it? 
Have  you  any  idea?" 

"No,"  said  the  girl  slowly,  "I  don't  understand.     Hon- 


290  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

estly  I  don't,  Chris.  But  I  believe  it  was  more  than  mere 
nonsense.  I  fancy  we  shall  understand  one  day.  Also 
the  last  sentence:  'The  voice  of  the  child  is  not  to  be 
silenced.'  But  that  I  think  I  understand  more  than  any- 
thing else." 

"Well,  what  does  that  mean?  I  see  no  particular  sense 
in  it." 

She  said  nothing,  nor  did  she  look  at  him. 

"Well?"  he  queried  impatiently. 

She  released  her  knees  and  turned  round  to  him,  her 
eyes  glowing  in  the  candle  light.  He  stared  back  at  her 
and  was  suddenly  aware  again  of  the  unfathomable  depth 
of  those  eyes.  The  place,  the  time,  even  something  con- 
jured up  by  her  fortune-telling,  laid  some  sort  of  a  spell 
on  him,  and  he  made  no  effort  to  resist  them.  They  burned 
very  brightly,  he  thought,  and  her  face  seemed  to  him  to 
grow  larger.  He  had  no  idea  whether  it  was  five  seconds 
or  five  minutes  that  he  had  sat  so,  and  he  heard  the  mourn- 
ful eerie  cry  of  an  owl  flying  by  night,  first  close  at  hand 
and  then  farther  and  farther  away  as  it  sped  up  the  valley, 
as  if  the  sound  came  from  another  world  and  had  no  rela- 
tion to  him.  Then  she  spoke,  and  he  was  dimly  aware  of 
a  curious  sense  of  wonder.  It  was  as  if  she  spoke  within 
him  and  not  exteriorly  at  all.  He,  himself,  was  not  at  first 
aware  of  what  she  said.  Then  it  dawned  on  him:  "What 
do  you  see  ?  What  do  you  see  ?"  she  was  saying  insistently. 
He  peered  at  her,  at  those  big  eyes,  into  those  deep  pools. 
What  did  he  see?  Did  he  see  anything?  He  would  look, 
look;  she  should  not  ask  in  vain.  And  then,  suddenly,  he 
felt  afraid;  he  did  not  want  to  see.  He  tried  to  pull  up, 
for  he  was  slipping  down,  down,  down,  yes,  down  and 
down  and  down.  With  the  last  vestige  of  semi-conscious- 
ness he  told  himself  that  it  was  only  Pamela,  little  Pamela ; 
he  was  not  afraid  of  her!  He  willed  to  look  deep  down, 
or  he  thought  he  willed.  And  then  .  .  .  "What  do  you 
see?"  demanded  a  voice  again,  not  Pamela's  voice  surely; 
"What  do  you  see?  Tell  me!" 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  291 

Then  he  saw.  He  thought  at  first  it  was  water,  but  he 
looked  closely  and  more  curiously.  No,  it  was  not  water. 
It  was  more  like  mist,  a  smoke,  a  swirling  stream  of  it, 
rushing  incessantly  and  silently  by,  writhing  and  tossing 
as  if  it  were  alive.  He  knew  that  it  was  alive — no,  that 
it  was  life.  An  idea  glimmered  in  the  back  of  his  brain, 
the  memory  of  a  phrase,  'the  ocean  of  becoming.'  He  did 
not  know  that  he  said  it  aloud. 

"Whom?"  demanded  that  now  resistless  voice,  "Whom? 
Whom  do  you  see?" 

Well,  there  was  no  one.  Yes,  there  was.  Oh  God,  he 
had  not  noticed!  Deep,  deep  down,  deeper,  deeper, — he 
would  reach  her — a  face,  a  figure — Cecily.  He  cried  her 
name,  cried  to  her,  but  she  would  not  look  at  him.  She 
was  holding  something  in  her  arms,  bending  over  it.  The 
swirling  stuff  hid  it,  but  perhaps  if  he  bent  lower,  closer,  he 
•would  see.  He  leant  nearer,  much  nearer;  he  looked,  as 
it  were,  over  her  shoulder.  Oh  it  was  Ronnie,  of  course, 
and  the  child  was  smiling  at  him.  He  could  see  its  eyes. 
They  puzzled  him.  There  was  something  he  ought  to  re- 
member, he  knew  that.  And  then  he  knew.  "But  Ronnie 
is  dead,"  he  muttered  stupidly. 

Then  Cecil  turned  and  looked  at  him.  He  forgot  the 
child;  he  forgot  everything.  Her  eyes  were  as  they  had 
been  that  day  she  rode  away  from  him,  years  and  years 
ago,  by  the  Falls  of  the  Tselike,  and  he  cried  some  foolish 
thing,  like  a  child,  as  he  read  what  seemed  to  him  to  be 
accusation  in  them.  But  never  mind  her  eyes;  it  was  her 
lips  that  he  desired  so  passionately.  He  bent  forward  still 
more.  "Kiss,  kiss,"  he  whispered  huskily. 

She  did  not  refuse  him.  He  felt  them  hungrily  beneath 
his  own,  warm  red  lips*  Still  kissing,  he  raised  his  eyes  to 
her  again.  Oh,  but  it  was  not  Cecily  at  all ;  it  was  Pamela ! 
A  sudden  sense  of  his  mistake  and  disappointment  shot 
through  him  like  the  stab  of  a  knife.  He  jerked  his  head 
back  swiftly,  and  was  aware  of  the  candle  that  flickered  in 
its  lantern,  and  of  the  arched  roof  above  him,  and  of  Pam- 


292  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

ela  sitting  there,  flushed,  silent.  He  stared  at  her.  His 
hand  reached  out  and  touched  the  blankets  on  which  they 
were  sitting,  and  felt  the  texture,  very  real  and  warm.  He 
was  rapidly  becoming  himself  again,  but  as  swiftly  as  a 
sense  of  his  surroundings  returned,  he  forgot,  or  nearly 
forgot,  what  he  had  seen.  He  found  himself  talking 
stupidly.  "What  did  you  say?"  he  asked  aimlessly. 

Pamela  laughed  a  little  harshly,  and  got  up.  Chris  stared 
up  at  her,  still  a  little  confused.  "Pam,"  he  said  help- 
lessly, "did  I  go  to  sleep?  I  thought  I  saw  Cecily.  I  re- 
member now.  And  I  kissed  her — no,  it  was  you  I  kissed. 
Oh,  Pamela,  what  the  devil  did  I  do?"  And  he  too  was 
on  his  feet. 

Her  face  changed,  and  grew  very  tender.  She  slipped 
her  arm  lightly  and  confidingly  into  his.  "It  was  nothing, 
my  dear,"  she  said.  "You  were  sleepy,  I  think.  Anyway 
it  is  time  to  turn  in  now.  Wouldn't  you  like  a  night-cap? 
I  see  Philip  has  put  my  valise  into  my  dressing-room  to- 
night and  yours  away  down  there,  in  that  other  room,  for 
fear  of  the  rain,  I  suppose.  Will  you  get  another  candle? 
There  are  some  in  the  pack  by  the  fire.  And  a  glass  will  be 
over  there  too.  See,  the  boys  have  turned  in;  we  have  the 
place  to  ourselves.  You  have  your  flask?  Good-night. 
I'm  off  to  bed.  But  don't  hesitate  to  call  me  if  you  want 
anything." 

She  had  been  leading  him  into  the  cave,  and  talking,  he 
thought,  as  if  to  fill  up  time.  But  there  was  a  singular 
caress  in  her  voice,  and  he  was  wide  awake  now  anyway. 
He  was  suddenly  very  conscious  of  her,  and  aware  that 
she  was  very  desirable  and  he  tired  and  lonely.  After  all, 
she  was  dear  old  Pam,  and  he  wanted  sympathy  and — and 
forgetfulness.  Where  were  the  boys?  Oh  yes,  over  there, 
asleep  by  the  fire.  They  were  alone,  and  she  had  said  it. 
.  .  .  "Yes,  I'll  get  a  night-cap,"  he  said.  "Good-night, 
dear." 

"Good-night,"  she  said  again,  and  left  him. 

He  walked  uncertainly  across  the  soft  floor  to  the  dying 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  293 

fire,  and  by  its  light,  fumbled  for  a  candle  and  a  glass.  No, 
glasses.  He  poured  out  and  tossed  off  a  first  tot  and  waited 
a  little  to  allow  it  to  clear  his  head ;  now  two  more,  one  for 
himself  and  one  for  Pamela.  He  splashed  some  more  water 
in,  with  a  steadying  hand  as  his  purpose  became  clearer  to 
himself,  set  the  candle  in  another  lantern,  and  swung  it  on 
his  wrist.  Then,  a  glass  in  each  hand,  he  walked  over  to  her 
side  of  the  cave. 

The  light  from  her  candle  shone  out  round  the  projecting 
shoulder  of  rock  that  made  her  insufficient  door.  Grotesque 
shadows  came  and  went  in  it,  made  by  her  movements  within. 
Chris  advanced  slowly.  He  was  remembering  that  incident 
by  the  swollen  river,  and  could  almost  feel  again  her  warm 
body  under  his  hand.  At  the  partition  he  spoke.  "Pam, 
dear,"  he  said. 

Pamela  had  heard  him  coming,  of  course,  but  she  had 
gone  on  brushing  her  hair  with  slow  deliberate  movements, 
a  little  smile  hovering  on  her  lips.  She  had  taken  off  her 
blouse  and  skirt,  but  she  had  made  no  attempt  to  reach  a 
wrap.  "Yes?"  she  said. 

"Won't  you  have  a  night-cap  as  well?  I've  brought  you 
one." 

Pamela  could  not  help  a  little  chuckle.  She  gave  one  swift 
little  glance  at  all  she  could  see  of  herself  in  the  travelling 
mirror  propped  up  before  her.  Then :  "You're  a  dear,"  she 
said.  "Yes.  I  will,  if  you  will  excuse  the  neglige"  And  she 
stepped  with  deliberation  half  round  the  rocks  towards  him. 

He  could  see  her  quite  plainly,  in  her  dainty  laces,  her  hair 
tumbling  about  her  shoulders,  a  comb  in  her  hand.  She 
took  the  whisky,  and  raised  it  to  him.  "Cheerio,"  she  said, 
smiling. 

He  moved  ever  so  slightly  forward  and  held  out  his  own 
glass.  It  chinked  on  hers.  "To  luck  and  love,  Pamela,"  he 
said  softly.  And  they  drank. 

He  swallowed  the  spirit  and  felt  its  secret  flame  tingle 
in  him.  She  held  out  her  empty  glass  to  him,  and  he  took 
it,  his  eyes  on  her  face.  Another  step — surely  he  read 


294  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

aright — and  she  would  not  resist  if  he  took  her  in  his  arms. 
Yet  he  hesitated.  Again,  in  the  very  moment,  he  remem- 
bered Cecil.  Something  in  the  other's  very  readiness  recalled 
the  drawing-room  at  Springfontein.  The  thought  of  her 
grew  swiftly  on  him  like  a  physical  presence;  indeed  he 
turned  his  eyes  from  his  cousin's  face  to  search  involuntarily 
the  darkness  beyond  them.  The  action  saved  him.  A  sense 
of  his  loss  and  desolation  swept  upon  him,  and  he  drew 
himself  up.  "Well,  good-night,  Pam,"  he  said  again,  and 
turned  sharply  away. 

Pamela's  little  mirror  was  stuck  up  above  her  candle  on  a 
rocky  shelf,  and  she  went  back  to  it,  staring  at  her  own  face 
in  its  light.  A  little  frown  gathered  involuntarily  there. 
"  'The  weak  shall  be  strong  and  the  strong  shall  be  weak/  " 
she  muttered  to  herself.  "But  it's  humiliating.  It  looks  as  if 
I  had  interpreted  it  before  the  wrong  way  about.  Cecily, 
my  dear,  if  it  wasn't  for  you,  I'd  chuck  in  my  hand.  What 
else  does  the  man  want  me  to  do  ?" 

She  finished  undressing  and  slipped  into  her  blankets.  But 
she  was  brave  enough  to  face  quite  frankly  her  own  thoughts. 
"Dear  old  Chris,"  she  said  to  herself,  "I  didn't  think  he  had 
so  much  in  him." 

Chris,  on  his  part,  rolled  himself  in  his  blankets  and  stared 
out  at  the  night.  He  tried  to  reconstruct  the  evening  and 
was  not  able  easily  to  do  so.  "By  Jove,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"that  girl  pretty  near  hypnotised  me  in  more  senses  than  one ! 
And  there's  a  week  at  least  yet !  Christopher,  my  son,  there 
must  be  no  more  playing  with  fire  if  you  don't  want  to  get 
burned!" 

He  lay  a  while  considering.  For  the  conventions,  he  cared 
not  at  all.  For  ordinary  morality,  he  had  precious  little  use. 
And  Pamela  was  his  counsin — once  removed,  perhaps,  but 
still  his  cousin.  There  was  the  family  to  consider.  He 
liked  Urfurd,  and  he  knew  Urf urd  liked  him.  For  that  mat- 
ter, an  engagement,  a  swift  marriage  even,  would  only  please 
them  all.  But  Cecily,  little  Cecily.  .  .  .  His  heart  warmed 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  295 

at  the  thought  of  her,  and  grew  very  tender.  There  was  no 
one  on  earth  like  Cecily,  his  little  Cecily.  .  .  .  And  closing 
his  eyes,  he  slept. 

Without,  the  rain  fell  steadily,  relentlessly. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"VTOWHERE  are  changes  in  temperature  more  rapid  than 
i-^l  in  the  Drakensberg.  Chris  slept  badly  because  of  the 
growing  warmth,  and  in  the  dawn  gave  up  the  attempt  to 
sleep  at  all.  He  got  up  and  went  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave, 
and  stood  drinking  in  the  early  sunlight  and  the  glory  of  it 
all.  Birds  chirped  in  the  rain-washed  bushes.  Both  boys 
were  away,  Philip  gathering  brushwood  at  a  little  distance, 
and  the  other,  Motseke,  climbing  a  stony  path  a  mile  off  in 
his  search  for  the  horses  who  appeared  to  have  wandered  a 
little  in  the  night.  Chris  felt  in  a  packbag  for  a  new  box  of 
cigarettes,  and  was  in  the  act  of  lighting  one  when  he  heard 
his  name. 

"Chris!"  called  Pamela,  and  then,  taking  in  the  beauty 
of  the  morning,  "oh,  isn't  it  good !  I  must  come  out."  And 
just  as  she  was,  in  her  pyjamas,  looking  very  young  and 
sweet,  she  suited  the  action  to  the  word  and  joined  him.  "A 
perfect  day,"  she  declared.  "Let's  go  off  and  bathe  quickly. 
We  ought  to  make  an  early  start." 

The  frank  companionship  of  the  earlier  hours  yesterday 
seemed  to  have  come  back  to  them  both.  In  their  bathing 
kit  and  kimonos  this  time  they  went  down  to  the  river  and 
had  a  dip,  and  as  frankly  and  companionably  returned. 
Breakfast  was  a  scratch  affair — coffee  and  rusks — while  the 
boys  saddled  up,  and  soon  they  were  heading  for  the  lip 
of  the  Pass,  talking  freely  and  gaily  of  the  things  about 
them. 

Once  over  the  toilsome  climb  to  the  very  top,  there  was 
good  going.  The  veld  shone  in  the  sun,  and  every  little 
peaty  pool  reflected  the  clear  blue  above  them.  A  string  of 
duck  rose  off  a  little  lake,  but  Chris  made  no  effort  to  get 

296 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  297 

at  his  gun.  "It's  too  good  a  morning  to  kill  anything,"  he 
said.  "I  fear  I'm  not  a  proper  Englishman  and  not  more 
than  half  a  sportsman.  I  want  to  shoot  only  when  the  pot 
requires  it,  or  when  I  feel  savage.  Your  average  Englishman 
shoots  for  exactly  the  opposite  reasons,  unless  he's  obliged." 

Thus,  then,  began  the  companionship  of  three  days  and 
two  nights  of  travelling  which  had  its  own  effect  on  both  of 
them,  but  especially  on  Pamela.  They  were,  of  course, 
thrown  entirely  upon  each  other's  company  during  hours  of 
exceeding  monotony  if  of  real  beauty.  They  had  decided, 
time  being  no  particular  object,  to  go  on  to  Mokhotlong  and 
up  from  there  to  Mont  aux  Sources,  and  that  meant  travers- 
ing border  country  almost  the  whole  way.  Border  country 
is  rough,  wild  and  comparatively  barren;  it  offers  indeed 
incomparable  views,  air  like  wine,  and  a  spectacle  of  savage 
grandeur  in  crag  and  peak  that  once  seen  is  never  forgotten. 
But  hour  by  hour  the  track  winds  interminably  over  broken 
plateaux  and  moors.  A  few  birds,  an  occasional  sheep — 
that  is  all.  Pace  is  set  by  the  pack  ponies,  and  the  jogging 
of  the  wearied  riding  horses  of  the  travellers  dominates  their 
existence.  As  one  rounds  a  corner,  there  is  the  leader  ahead ; 
as  one  glances  back,  there  is  the  straggler  behind.  That  is 
all.  For  oneself — jog,  jog,  jog; — that  is  all. 

Nine-tenths  of  such  a  day  cannot  be  described.  There  is  a 
minutiae  of  incident,  for  the  most  part,  which  is  merely 
cumulative  in  effect.  There  is  the  vastness  of  things ;  there 
is  the  silence;  there  are  a  thousand  moments;  and  there  is 
one's  companion.  Looking  back,  the  nights  will  stand  out, 
and  perhaps  the  dawns;  a  lunch  hour  or  two;  possibly  a 
minor  accident  when  a  strap  broke.  But  these  do  not  account 
for  the  days,  nor  do  these  explain  why  one's  fellow  traveller 
bulks  so  big  in  the  retrospect.  He,  and  the  million  little 
unnoticed  things,  that  is  the  trek. 

To  Pamela,  then,  Chris  and  the  million  little  unnoticed 
things  made  up  the  trek.  She  had  said  to  herself,  that  night 
in  the  cave,  that  she  did  not  know  he  had  so  much  in  him, 
but  what  exactly  he  had  in  him,  only  such  days  as  these 


2g8  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

could  show  her.  Imperceptibly,  they  wrought  a  change  on 
Pamela  in  this  regard.  She  had  said  of  herself  that  she  was 
not  sentimental,  and  it  was  without  sentiment  that  she  had 
begun  their  odyssey.  Cecil  needed  saving;  chat  was  all. 
She  knew  her  cousin  well  enough  to  be  aware  that,  trifler 
as  he  might  be  in  a  flirtation  on  shipboard,  he  was  honour- 
able at  bottom.  If  she  snared  him,  snared  him  even  to  one 
unguarded  hour  of  passion,  Cecily  was  saved.  Her  body  was 
to  be  the  bait ;  put  blankly,  it  was  not  the  prettiest  business ; 
it  was  like  her  that  she  did  not  hesitate.  Gwen  had  not 
called  her  ruthless  for  nothing. 

But  she  had  reckoned  without  the  Drakensberg.  She  had 
not  realised  what  the  mountains  and  the  solitudes  might  have 
to  say.  Foiled  in  the  Pass,  she  had  expected  to  try  night  by 

night,  or  wait  the  chance  of  an  hour,  until But  Chris 

was  at  hand  all  the  day,  at  hand  with  a  laugh,  a  cheery 
philosophy,  a  story  of  his  wanderings  somewhere  or  another ; 
at  hand  with  a  cigarette,  a  blanket,  a  little  help  here  or  there, 
and  all  without  a  trace  of  sentiment  which  would  have  spoilt 
it  for  her.  Pamela  postponed  her  temptation.  She  gave 
herself  up  to  the  ease  of  the  moment  and  the  zest  of  the 
rough  living.  And  in  the  end — well,  even  at  the  end  a 
woman's  soul  is  a  very  secret  thing.  But  Pamela  had  heard 
the  shouting  of  the  sons  of  God  for  joy  in  the  dawns  and  at 
the  sunsets  during  days  and  nights  of  mystery,  and  it  was 
not  in  Pamela  at  least  to  hear  in  vain. 

They  off-saddled  for  lunch  on  a  stream  that  Philip  assured 
them  was  the  Tselike  near  its  source,  but  it  was  hard  to  be- 
lieve it  as  they  seemed  to  have  been  travelling  too  far  north. 
But  it  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  both  of  them.  All  the 
world  was  good  that  day  wherever  they  journeyed.  Besides 
it  was  at  any  rate  a  clear  purling  brook  that  flowed  between 
grassy  banks,  with  mealy  lands  and  a  native  settlement  at 
a  little  distance.  Then  on,  and  up.  Always  up.  Pamela 
knew  what  to  expect,  and  explained  that  now  they  left  a 
big  peak  of  the  range — Thatamatuwe — on  their  right  (that 
was  it,  she  supposed,  pointing  to  a  sugar-loaf  of  a  mountain 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  299 

half  hid  in  drifting  mist  clouds)  and  climbed  up  to  the 
10,000  foot  level.  It  certainly  was  a  climb.  Cultivated  lands 
grew  fewer  and  finally  ceased  altogether.  The  road  became 
a  mere  track  and  in  places  practically  disappeared.  All  the 
afternoon  they  rode  across  a  barren  plateau  on  which  grew 
little  but  a  strange  green  shrub  (good  for  the  fire  even  when 
green,  Philip  said),  dry  brownish  grass,  and  occasionally 
most  lovely  flowering  rushes,  each  with  half  a  dozen  or  more 
fairy  bells  of  white  and  pink  swaying  in  the  breeze  three  or 
four  feet  above  the  ground. 

Pamela  grew  a  little  tired,  but  she  would  not  show  it. 
Towards  night-fall  they  reached  an  open  depression  in  the 
high  veld,  making  a  great  cup  perhaps  a  mile  to  a  mile  and 
a  half  wide,  rather  wet  and  crossed  by  innumerable  streams. 
Groups  of  half-wild  ponies  grazed  around  and  fled  with 
streaming  tails  and  manes  before  them,  and  here  Philip  and 
Motseke  rode  for  awhile  together  and  obviously  had  a  dis- 
cussion. Philip  at  last,  reined  up  his  pony  and  waited  for 
them.  "Best  camp  here,  morena,"  he  said  to  Chris. 

"What's  this  place,  then?"  demanded  Christopher. 

"That  the  Mashai,  down  there,"  the  boy  answered,  point- 
ing with  his  finger.  "Very  steep  bad  place  down  there.  We 
go  on  to-morrow  round  him,  over  those  hills  morena  see 
across  the  veld.  But  no  good  place  up  there  for  camp." 

"Isn't  it  damp  here,  Philip?"  Chris  queried.  "And  what 
about  the  fire  ?" 

"Oh  plenty  liso,  morena,  and  we  find  dry  place  for  tents." 

So  it  was  agreed.  The  horses  were  turned  loose  after 
careful  inspection  of  their  backs  lest  they  should  have  rubbed 
sores,  and  the  two  tents  put  up  on  a  bit  of  rising  ground 
within  a  cluster  of  great  boulders.  Motseke  took  his  blanket 
and,  using  it  as  a  bag,  wandered  off  after  the  sun-dried  dung 
that  the  natives  call  liso.  Pamela  watched  him,  and  then 
said  chuckling  to  Chris:  "I  shall  do  the  same.  You  go 
one  way  and  I'll  go  the  other.  Bet  you  I  get  most !" 

Half  an  hour  later,  in  the  now  thickly  gathering  dusk, 
Chris  looked  back  on  the  little  encampment.  It  looked 


300  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

surprisingly  tiny  in  that  vast  expanse,  and  when  he  stood 
still  there  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard.  The  fire  was  already 
alight,  burning  with  an  occasional  flicker  of  red  welcoming 
flame  and  with  a  great  streamer  of  grey  smoke.  Their  two 
tiny  patrol  tents  looked  infinitely  small  among  the  rocks. 
Pamela  was  not  visible;  she  had  gone  towards  the  many 
streamlets  that  made  up  the  river  whilst  he  had  struck  up 
towards  the  Border.  The  horses  were  mostly  invisible  too, 
except  the  grey  pack  who  never  strayed  far  from  the  camp. 
And  low  down,  far  over  Basutoland,  hung  the  Southern 
Cross. 

His  blanket  was  pretty  full  by  now,  and  he  sat  down  to 
think.  The  peace  of  the  place  enveloped  him  like  a  sentient 
thing.  It  seemed  as  if  there  were  a  presence  there,  brood- 
ing over  all,  and  as  if  earth  and  sky  waited — waited  perhaps 
for  the  rise  of  that  curtain  that  hangs  so  impalpably  between 
the  seen  and  the  unseen.  Then,  he  thought,  would  that 
Presence  step  out  amongst  them.  And  whose?  Up  here,  it 
seemed  impossible  not  to  say  God's. 

Supper  was  a  stew  to-night  beyond  question,  mainly  com- 
posed of  the  contents  of  a  tin  of  bully  beef,  though  one  came 
across  surprise  bits  of  pigeon.  The  spell  of  the  place  had 
fallen  on  Pamela  too,  and  they  neither  of  them  spoke  much. 
Once,  when  they  had  finished  and  Motseke  had  gone  off 
with  the  plates  to  the  nearest  stream,  she  said:  "Chris,  I 
understand  that  bit  in  the  gospels  to-night  where  Peter  at  the 
Transfiguration  wanted  to  make  his  tabernacles.  I  feel  as 
if  I'd  like  to  make  a  tabernacle  here  for  good  and  all.  It  is 
good  to  be  here." 

He  nodded,  and  did  not  attempt  a  conventional  answer. 
"But  down  below  there  were  devils,"  he  said.  "We  too, 
it  seems,  have  to  go  down  to  them." 

"To  cast  them  out  I  suppose,"  she  said,  thoughtfully. 

They  did  not  make  the  progress  next  day  which  Philip 
had  apparently  expected.  They  were  late  in  starting,  for 
one  thing,  and  for  another,  the  packs  gave  trouble  on  the 
road  and  had  to  be  taken  off  and  adjusted  two  or  three  times. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  301 

The  weather  held  however,  and  neither  cared.  They  lunched 
at  the  head  of  a  long  valley,  that  of  the  Linakaneng  river, 
and  then  commenced  to  follow  it  up.  Lands  appeared  again, 
but  chiefly  of  wheat,  and  among  the  wheat  grew  scarlet 
gladioli  that  reminded  Chris  of  the  valley  he  and  Cecil  had 
ridden  up  side  by  side  on  leaving  Qacha's  Nek.  Wild  mint 
bloomed  fragrantly  by  the  water  and  scented  the  hot  air, 
and  the  hill-sides  were  clothed  with  masses  of  a  dark  brick- 
red  flower  whose  name  they  did  not  know.  They  rode 
swiftly  here,  through  little  paths  among  the  sun-lit  stalks  and 
grasses  saddle  high,  though  the  river  wound  interminably, 
and  it  seemed  an  impossible  direction  when  Philip  insisted 
on  a  sharp  right-angled  turn  to  the  north  and  a  climb  up  what 
was  almost  another  pass.  The  path  zigzagged  up,  and  soon 
they  had  to  walk.  They  stumbled  up  together,  and  at  the 
top  Pamela  threw  herself  on  the  ground.  "Oh,  Lor',  Chris," 
she  said,  "I  thought  we'd  never  get  up.  Aren't  you  dead- 
beat  ?  My  word,  but  this  is  trekking !" 

"Where  next?"  asked  Chris. 

The  charm  and  peace  of  the  river-valley  had  fled.  A 
gloomy  waste  stretched  about  them  and  a  wind  had  come  up 
chill  from  somewhere.  They  called  Philip,  and  he  came  up 
as  cheerful  as  ever. 

"Where  the  devil  are  you  taking  us  to?"  demanded 
Chris. 

"Moreno,  see  soon,"  said  the  boy.  "We  cross  this  vlei 
and  ride  down  the  Linakeng  river.  Down  there,  we  find  the 
village  of  Motseke's  uncle's  brother,  and  we  sleep  there. 
They  give  missus  huts  and  a  sheep  I  think." 

"But  where  the  blazes  is  Mokhotlong?"  demanded  Chris 
again.  "I  thought  you  said  we  should  get  there,  or  to  a 
store,  to-night." 

"To-morrow,  morcna,"  said  Philip  smiling. 

"The  land  of  to-morrow,"  chuckled  Pamela.  "Come  on, 
Chris.  'All  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools  the  way  to 
dusty  death.'  That's  where  to-day  will  light  us  if  we  stay 
much  longer  in  this  ghastly  place." 


302  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Night  fell,  and  they  were  still  in  the  saddle.  Motseke  led, 
and  Chris  followed  the  grey  pack-horse  who  could  be  seen 
ghostly  ahead.  Pamela  followed  him.  Down,  down,  down. 
They  reached  a  river.  In  and  out,  in  and  out,  up  and  down; 
Chris  even  began  to  get  sleepy  in  the  saddle.  Pamela  had 
been  silent  for  some  time;  then,  "Lights  ahead!"  she  cried 
suddenly. 

That  late  arrival  in  the  native  village  was  unforgettable. 
It  stood  fairly  high  on  a  little  plateau  over  the  river,  and 
a  big  fire  was  blazing  before  the  semicircle  of  huts.  In  the 
light  of  it,  dark  faces  gathered  round  them  and  much  talk 
burst  out.  Women  and  children  came  to  the  doors  of  the 
wind-screen  reed  fences  in  front  of  the  round  huts,  and  a 
head-man  in  a  blanket  came  solemnly  up  to  shake  hands.  He 
spoke  rapidly  in  Sesuto,  and  Pamela  translated  that  if  they 
would  be  patient  and  wait  a  minute,  a  hut  would  be  got  ready 
for  them. 

"Do  you  want  to  sleep  in  a  hut?"  asked  Chris. 

"Oh  yes,"  she  said.  "Their  huts  are  very  clean  as  a  rule. 
I  have  often  done  it." 

"Well,  we  can't  both  sleep  in  the  hut,  I  suppose,"  said 
Chris,  "though  I  don't  know  why  a  hut  should  be  worse 
than  a  cave,  do  you?  However  I'll  have  a  tent  put  up,  I 
think."  And  he  called  to  Philip. 

"All  right,  but  we  can  both  eat  in  it,  anyway.  Look,  it's 
ready.  Oh  here's  the  head-man's  wife,"  and  Pamela 
shook  hands  with  a  fat  smiling  woman  who  was  prepared  to 
usher  her  in. 

The  hut  was  round,  some  six  feet  high  at  the  top  of  the 
rough  stone  walls  and  perhaps  nine  feet  in  the  centre.  The 
walls  were  ornamented  with  patterns  and  figures  in  coloured 
earths,  rudely  done,  and  a  weird  variety  of  things  were  hung 
on  pegs  or  stuck  into  the  thatch — their  hostess'  skirts,  empty 
bottles,  some  spears,  a  sheepskin,  bags  of  tobacco  woven  from 
grass,  a  bundle  of  twine,  an  ancient  Tower  carbine,  and  what 
proved  to  be  a  prayer  and  hymn  book  wrapped  in  a  handker- 
chief. A  pile  of  grain-bags  occupied  half  the  wall  space, 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  303 

and  a  couple  of  chairs,  one  minus  its  back,  were  brought  in 
*or  them,  as  also  a  three-legged  native  stool  roughly  fash- 
ioned out  of  a  piece  of  log.  Three  half-naked  little  brats  of 
children  crouched  in  the  doorway,  and  ran  off  laughing  when 
Pamela  tried  to  get  them  to  come  farther  in.  Philip  and 
Motseke  appeared  with  the  bags  and  saddles,  all  of  which 
they  proposed  to  store  in  the  hut.  Chris  asked  for  water  in 
which  to  wash,  but  this  was  more  of  a  luxury  as  the  river 
ran  some  distance  below,  and  the  basin  that  made  its  appear- 
ance held  but  a  limited  supply.  However,  as  Pamela  said, 
it  was  clean  dirt  on  their  hands,  and  they  made  a  rough  toilet 
and  sat  down  to  wait  events. 

Pamela  had  begged  Chris  to  say  nothing  about  food  but 
to  see  what  was  brought  them.  In  due  time  a  procession 
appeared — the  head-man,  his  wife,  the  eldest  child,  and  their 
own  boys.  In  various  dishes,  a  chicken,  about  a  dozen  hard- 
boiled  eggs,  some  native  wheat-bread  looking  like  penny  buns 
and  tasting  excellent  when  new,  a  bowl  of  beans  and  another 
of  ntafi  or  thick  milk,  made  their  appearance.  With  renewed 
apologies  for  having  what  they  called  nothing  to  offer  them, 
the  natives  withdrew. 

Pamela  sprang  up.  "Now,"  she  cried,  "don't  move  and 
I'll  prepare  the  dinner."  She  got  out  their  tin  plates,  mugs 
and  cutlery,  sent  off  Philip  to  make  the  coffee,  and  opened 
a  tin  of  blackberry  and  apple  jam  and  another  of  anchovy 
paste.  "Course  one,"  she  said,  "eggs  and  anchovy.  I'm 
sorry  there  is  no  toast  but  they  go  well  together  without  it. 
Course  two,  chicken,  beans  and  bread ;  course  three  (sweets), 
mafi  and  jam ;  and  coffee  to  wash  it  down.  Chris,  you  won't 
fare  better  even  when  you  get  back  to  London!" 

The  ride  had  sharpened  their  appetites,  and  there  was  an 
air  about  Pamela  that  was  infectious.  But  the  supper  was 
good.  Two  candles,  stuck  to  the  mud  floor  by  their  own 
grease,  made  the  illumination,  and  through  the  open  door, 
over  the  top  of  the  Iclapa*  twinkled  the  stars.  They  could 
hear  the  voices  of  the  men  from  where  they  sat  out  of 

* Lelafio  (Sesuto),  wind-screen  of  reeds  built  before  a  hut  door. 


304  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

sight  around  the  village  fire,  and  from  some  hut  along  the 
line  to  the  left  the  occasional  laughter  of  women.  In  every 
moment's  silence,  the  ceaseless  song  of  the  river  below  came 
up  to  them. 

Chris  took  his  last  spoonful  of  mafi  and  set  the  plate  on  the 
floor.  Pamela  looked  at  him  and  chuckled.  "Good?"  she 
queried. 

"Perfectly  priceless,"  he  said.  "Have  you  finished?  May 
I  smoke?" 

"Do,"  she  said.  "I've  only  coffee  to  finish,  but  I  won't 
light  up  yet." 

His  pipe  going,  Chris  said  thoughtfully,  "There's  some- 
thing extraordinarily  attractive  about  this.  I've  travelled 
a  good  deal  among  natives,  but  never  quite  like  this.  I  owe 
it  to  you,  I  think.  If  I'd  been  alone,  I  should  have  camped 
outside  the  village  and  eaten  my  own  stuff  in  my  tent.  But 
you  know,  this  hospitality  of  theirs  is  very  wonderful  and 
delightful.  Are  the  Basuto  different  from  other  South 
African  tribes  in  this?" 

"Yes  and  no,"  said  Pamela.  "Yes,  because  they're  not 
conquered.  This  is  their  own  country.  They're  far  more 
rich  than  the  farm  natives  in  the  Free  State  or  even  most 
of  the  Zulus  in  Natal.  Some  whites  call  them  cheeky,  but 
that's  all  rubbish  to  my  way  of  thinking.  On  the 
whole,  the  native  is  a  real  if  a  raw  gentleman.  Up  here, 
where  he  is  free  and  on  his  own  earth,  he  is  hospitable  to  a 
fault  and  takes  a  pride  in  it.  But  the  Basuto  are  different 
from  the  others  in  that  on  the  whole  they  don't  cringe  and 
don't  treat  a  while  man  as  necessarily  their  superior.  We 
are  'chiefs'  of  course,  each  of  us,  by  virtue  of  our  colour, 
but  not  masters.  If  you  resent  that,  you  will  call  these  people 
cheeky;  if  you  understand  it  and  live  up  to  it,  you'll  like 
them." 

"It's  plain  how  you  regard  it,"  said  Christopher  medi- 
tatively. 

"I  suppose  it  is.  And  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it.  I  think  some- 
times I  wouldn't  mind  living  up  here,  or  even  in  Pondoland, 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  305 

all  my  days.  The  native  is  a  primitive  man,  but  I  don't 
think  any  great  shakes  of  his  civilised  elder  brother." 

"And  you'd  marry  a  native?"  queried  Chris,  amused. 

Pamela  lit  a  cigarette  with  her  most  deliberate  and  pon- 
tifical air.  "I  don't  honestly  know,"  she  said.  "Somehow  it 
seems  worse  for  a  white  woman  to  marry  a  black  man  than 
vice  versa.  Logically,  I  don't  know  why.  I've  met  a  white 
trader  who  lived  with  a  native  woman  quite  regularly,  and 
both  he  and  she  were  very  decent  people,  though  no  one 
would  go  near  them.  I've  met  white  men  who  lived  with 
black  women  quite  irregularly  and  both  parties  were  rotters, 
though  people  did  go  near  the  men,  and  even  appeared  not 
to  notice  it.  But  I  must  confess  I've  never  felt  inclined  to 
try  the  experiment." 

"I  should  hope  not,"  said  Chris  emphatically. 

"Why?"  she  queried. 

Chris  smoked  in  silence.  Then  he  laughed.  "You  have 
me,"  he  said,  "for  I  refuse  to  be  conventional.  To  say  it 
doesn't  seem  right  and  would  injure  the  prestige  of  the 
white  man,  is  a  poor  enough  reason  I  know." 

"Exactly,"  said  Pamela.  "Our  prestige  has  been  injured 
quite  easily  without  that.  When  the  impartial  story  of  the 
white  man  in  Africa  comes  to  be  written,  a  thousand  years 
hence,  it  won't  read  over  nicely.  Slavery  to  begin  with. 
Jameson's  got-up  little  war  in  Rhodesia  and  the  cool  'expro- 
priation' of  nine  million  acres.  The  suppression  of  the  Her- 
rera  'rebellion'  in  German  West  Africa.  And  so  on.  No,  it 
won't  make  nice  reading  when  the  human  race  is  welded 
into  one  and  the  colours  are  as  mixed  as  the  Goths,  Celts,  and 
Latins  in  Europe." 

"That  day  will  never  come,"  said  Chris. 

"Won't  it  ?  You  have  small  authority  for  saying  so,  any- 
way, my  dear.  But  certainly  we  shan't  see  it,  and  meantime 
I'm  for  bed." 

Chris  got  to  his  feet  and  knocked  out  his  pipe  on  the 
stone  step  of  the  door.  "Got  all  you  want  ?"  he  queried. 

"Everything,  thanks.    Shall  you  turn  in  now?" 


306  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"A  last  cigarette,  I  think.     Good-night,  Pam." 

"Good-night,  Chris." 

He  left  the  village,  and  found  his  tent  beyond  on  a  flat 
piece  of  grassy  land.  Ten  yards  away,  it  and  the  huts  were 
all  but  swallowed  in  the  darkness.  He  stood  smoking  and 
looking  down  the  valley,  which  a  rising  moon  lit  in  the  dis- 
tance though  a  black  shadow  lay  over  the  village  itself.  It 
was  utterly  peaceful.  He  thought  of  Cecil  and  wondered 
what  she  was  doing ;  then  of  Pamela,  so  unconventional  and 
frank.  They  were  a  curious  contrast.  He  sighed,  and  threw 
the  glowing  end  of  his  cigarette  into  the  black  void  at  his 
feet.  It  shone  in  the  air  like  a  miniature  meteor  for  a  minute, 
and  was  gone.  High  overhead  the  real  thing  flamed  in 
sudden  glory  across  the  velvet  sky.  Our  day  lasts  no  longer, 
he  thought,  in  the  story  of  the  planet,  and  maybe  our  very 
world,  when  it  goes  out  in  the  end,  will  seem  no  more  to 
the  inhabitants  of  some  distant  solar  system.  Then  Philip 
loomed  up  out  of  the  night.  "What  is  it  ?"  Chris  demanded. 

"Water  for  morena"  said  Philip,  and  held  out  a  native  pot 
and  his  master's  flask.  "He  have  last  drink,  eh  ?" 

"Have  one  yourself,"  said  Chris,  on  the  impulse. 

The  boy  shook  his  head.  "Brandy  no  good  for  Basuto," 
he  said. 

"Your  people  don't  all  think  so,"  retorted  Chris. 

The  boy's  teeth  grinned  in  the  dark.  "No,  morena"  he 
said,  "and  it  a  great  pity." 

"You're  right,  Philip,"  said  Chris,  "but  who  taught  you 
that?" 

"The  Mission.  Morena  see  church  at  Mokhotlong. 
Priest  there,  these  people  say.  He  pass  this  way  day  before 
yesterday.  Good-night,  morena." 

Chris  was  still  thoughtful  as  they  rode  next  morning.  The 
path  crossed  the  Linakeng  and  left  it  at  right  angles,  running 
due  north  again.  They  had  to  climb  up  a  long  valley,  to  ride 
round  some  peaks  very  high  up,  and  then  descend  the  course 
of  another  stream  the  other  side.  Philip  pointed  out  a  dis- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  307 

tant  mountain  mass.    "That  Mokhotlong,  morena"  he  said. 

When  he  had  dropped  behind,  Chris  turned  to  Pamela. 
"Why  does  Philip  call  me  morena  now?"  he  asked,  "It  was 
always  Baas  before." 

"Because  he  is  a  Mosuto,"  she  said,  "and  in  his  own  land 
drops  the  baas  of  the  farm.  The  one  means  a  chief,  the 
other  a  master.  It's  a  subtle  difference,  and  just  what  I  told 
you  last  night." 

Chris  nodded.  "He's  a  good  chap,  that,"  he  said,  and  told 
her  of  the  brandy  incident. 

"Yes,  better  than  most,"  Pamela  replied.  "Father  picked 
him  up  in  these  parts,  and  he  has  never  left  him.  We've  a 
good  lot  of  servants,  and  a  mixed  crowd  too,  of  which  I'm 
glad  for  it  has  taught  me  several  dialects.  You  ought  to 
learn  one,  Chris." 

He  shook  his  head.  "I'm  no  good  at  that  sort  of  thing," 
he  said. 

Mokhotlong  is  a  Government  camp,  the  smallest  and  most 
remote  station  in  the  Protectorate.  It  is  magnificently 
placed,  on  a  plateau  that  slopes  to  the  Mokhotlong  river  itself, 
a  deep  mountain  torrent  which  flows  below  the  camp  less 
than  a  mile  away  across  the  reserve  and  joins  the  Orange 
not  far  beyond  under  some  huge  cliffs.  The  settlement  itself 
is  a  horseshoe  of  huts,  with  the  sub-inspector's  house  at  the 
end  of  them,  a  bungalow  of  three  rooms  built  in  native 
fashion  with  a  couple  of  subsidiary  rondhavels  one  on  each 
flank.  They  rode  up  slowly  in  the  afternoon  sun,  past  the 
seven  or  eight  rondhavels  of  the  police,  and  the  stables,  and 
drew  rein  by  a  line  of  white  stones  that  marked  a  terrace 
before  the  white  man's  quarters.  As  Chris  helped  Pamela 
to  dismount,  he  came  out,  bare-headed  but  in  uniform,  and 
she  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"Mr.  Mallory!"  she  cried.  "Who  would  have  thought 
of  seeing  you  here!" 

He  smiled.  "And  who  in  the  world  of  seeing  you !"  he 
retorted.  "Well,  at  any  rate,  I  congratulate  you,  Miss 


308  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Urfurd.  Not  more  than  three  or  four  white  women  have 
ever  got  to  Mokhotlong.  But  I  thought  you  had  gone  home 
a  week  ago." 

Chris  and  he  shook  hands  heartily,  and  Chris  explained. 
"But  you,"  he  added,  "I  thought  you  were  off  back  to  the 
Nek  and  civilisation." 

"Well,"  said  Mallory,  "I  saw  the  Sinclairs  to  Ramat- 
seliso's,  but  there  I  found  an  orderly  from  the  camp  with  an 
unexpected  letter  from  Bosworth,  our  Assistant  Commis- 
sioner you  remember,  telling  me  to  come  up  here  at  once  on 
a  bit  of  police  business.  So  I  rode  back  to  Moshebe's  that 
night,  and  despite  the  rain,  packed  on  up  here  next  morn- 
ing." 

"We  were  hung  up  by  the  rain  two  days  in  the  Bushman's 
cave,"  said  Pamela.  "We've  had  a  topping  time,  Mr.  Mal- 
lory. I  hope  you're  not  utterly  shocked  at  seeing  us  ride  up 
together." 

"Not  a  bit,"  he  said.  "It's  a  thoroughly  sporting  pro- 
gramme. Come  right  in.  I  am  alone,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
for  our  man  up  here  is  away  on  patrol  and  doesn't  know  of 
my  arrival.  It's  all  very  rough  and  ready,  Miss  Urfurd,  but 
I'm  delighted  to  see  you.  Never  mind  the  horses,  Ashurst; 
the  police  will  look  after  them;  we'll  have  some  tea  in  a 
couple  of  shakes.  Do  sit  down,  Miss  Urfurd ;  you  must  be 
awfully  tired.  By  Jove!  it's  perfectly  priceless  you  two 
rolling  up.  You  must  stop  a  week  at  least." 

"Oh  we  can't  trespass  on  you  like  that,"  protested  Pamela. 

"Well,  it  isn't  on  me,"  said  Mallory,  laughing.  "It's  on 
Judson.  But  you  needn't  worry.  We  don't  often  get 
visitors  here  and  we're  delighted  to  see  them.  There's  a 
store  handy  and  sheep  on  the  mountain,  also  buck,  and  fish  in 
the  river.  There's  a  garden  full  of  vegetables,  and  even  the 
bar  happens  to  be  well  stocked.  You  must  rest  your  horses 
for  some  days  anyhow,  and  where  do  you  go  next?  Back 
to  camp  at  Qacha's  Nek  ?" 

"We  don't  know,"  said  Chris  smiling.  "The  idea  was 
simply  not  to  waste  the  chance  of  the  trek,  but  we're  aiming 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  309 

more  or  less  for  the  Free  State  side.  Can't  we  do  Mont 
aux  Sources  now  we're  about  it  ?" 

The  two  men  went  off  to  the  map  hanging  in  the  little 
office,  and  Pamela  looked  curiously  about  her..  The  floor  and 
the  walls  were  of  mud ;  the  table  and  chairs  of  unvarnished 
wood.  A  huge  stone  fire-place  opened  at  one  end,  and  above 
it  was  nailed  the  skin  of  an  immense  snake.  There  was  a 
shelf  of  books  with  a  dozen  or  so  of  novels,  and  "Every- 
man's Book  of  Medicine,"  and  some  law  reports.  These,  a 
cupboard,  and  a  half  a  dozen  heads  of  various  buck,  together 
with  a  rack  of  rods  and  guns,  completed  the  furniture. 
Pamela  stretched  her  feet  to  the  fire,  and  lay  back  in  her 
chair  with  a  sigh  of  content 

Mallory  gave  her  the  right  rondhavel,  and  he  and  Chris 
shared  the  left.  It  was  a  curious  life  they  lived  together 
for  the  next  few  days.  It  did  not  matter  in  the  least  at  what 
hour  you  rose,  ate  or  slept.  Mutton,  in  various  forms,  made 
up  the  greater  part  of  the  menu.  The  second  day,  however, 
while  the  men  were  out  fishing,  Pamela  invaded  the  kitchen, 
charmed  the  native  cook  (who  happened  to  be  a  fellow 
under  arrest  for  manslaughter  who  was  awaiting  trial),  and 
turned  out  scones,  a  cake  and  a  tart.  Thereafter  she  was 
voted  house-keeper,  and  one  night  arranged  a  marvellous 
dinner  such  as,  Mallory  declared,  the  place  could  never  have 
seen  before.  They  even  had  a  visitor  from  the  lonely  store 
three  hours'  ride  away,  and  the  four  of  them  played  auction 
bridge  till  midnight.  Thus  the  days  slipped  away,  but  two 
incidents  are  really  worthy  of  note. 

The  first  was  a  visit  to  the  mission.  The  three  of  them 
rode  together  across  the  Mokhotlong  river  and  up  a  steep 
path  to  where,  in  a  fold  of  the  hills,  stood  the  little  church. 
It  was  a  Sunday,  and  some  couple  of  hundred  natives  were 
gathered,  from  tiny  remote  villages,  to  the  spot.  The  priest 
came  to  meet  them  in  his  cassock,  a  red-haired  slight  man 
at  whom  Pamela  looked  curiously  because  at  Three  Springs 
little  good  was  said  of  missions.  She  wondered  what  he 
would  say  to  her  appearance,  in  so  lonely  a  place  with  two 


3io  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

men  for  one  thing,  and  in  riding  breeches  for  the  second. 
But  she  need  not  have  wondered,  for  he  did  not  seem  to 
notice  or  criticise  anything. 

"Are  you  often  here,  father?"  she  asked  when  they  had 
been  introduced. 

"No,"  he  said.  "Three  or  four  times  a  year  for  say  a 
week  at  a  time  is  about  all  I  can  manage.  I've  all  these 
mountains  to  visit,  with  perhaps  a  dozen  more  or  less  cen- 
tral places  at  which  I  try  to  spend  a  Sunday  or  two.  The 
people  are  very  scattered  in  the  mountains,  and  it  is  a  hard 
task  to  keep  them  up  to  scratch." 

"But  what  a  tiny  village  this  is,"  she  said,  looking  round 
on  the  eight  or  nine  clusters  of  two  or  at  the  most  three 
huts  each  which  were  scattered  over  the  hollow. 

"Ah,  you  are  not  used  to  our  small  mountain  villages,  but 
there  are  many  all  around.  In  the  evening  you  can  see  the 
smoke  of  the  fires  far  away  down  the  valley.  Some  of  these 
people  here  have  come  three  hours  on  horseback  to  be 
present  for  mass,  and  some  have  actually  walked.  Won't 
you  come  up  to  the  church  and  have  a  look  ?  It's  poor,  but 
we  are  rather  proud  of  it.  It  is  so  difficult  to  get  anything 
built  up  here." 

They  crossed  the  rough  stone-strewn  grass  to  a  mud, 
thatch  and  stone  building  like  a  big  barn  with  a  rounded 
apsidal  end.  The  priest's  hut,  no  different  from  those  of 
his  flock,  stood  by  itself  thirty  feet  or  so  beyond,  and  a  great 
crowd  of  people  clustered  about.  All  were  in  their  Sunday 
best  and  mostly  in  European  clothes,  the  women  hideous 
with  masses  of  skirts  which  made  them  look  as  if  they  wore 
crinolines.  Pamela  drew  the  priest's  attention  to  it. 

"Yes,"  he  said  laughing,  "it's  terrible,  isn't  it?  The  fact 
is  that  the  first  white  women  they  ever  saw  in  Basutoland 
were  the  wives  of  French  Protesant  missionaries  in  the  days 
of  the  crinoline.  Fashions  die  hard  in  Africa.  This  is  the 
native  attempt  to  copy  it.  You  can't  dispossess  them  of  the 
idea,  and  after  all,  it  doesn't  much  matter.  Personally  I'd 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  311 

sooner  they  came  in  native  skins  and  blankets,  but  they're 
past  that.  It's  not  my  fault,  and  I've  more  to  do  than  worry 
over  it.  But  come  to  the  church,  will  you  ?" 

The  door  was  open  and  the  visitors  entered.  A  mud  altar 
stood  out  from  the  wall  in  the  apse,  with  a  crucifix  and  a 
couple  of  candles  upon  it,  and  a  picture  of  Saint  Michael 
treading  the  devil  down  into  very  red  flames  hung  above. 
("The  church  is  dedicated  to  St.  Michael,"  said  Fr.  Wilfrid, 
"and  that's  the  best  we  can  do.")  The  floor  was  mud,  with 
a  few  low  mud  seats  running  across  it,  but  what  at  once 
attracted  their  attention  was  a  small  crowd  of  some  twenty 
children  kneeling  around  an  image  of  the  Virgin  and  saying 
the  rosary.  An  elder  girl,  herself  possibly  thirteen  or  four- 
teen at  most,  led  them,  and  scarcely  a  head  turned  on  their 
entrance.  They  stood  and  listened,  and  presently  Pamela 
distinguished  the  Gloria  in  the  Sesuto.  Then  the  leader 
began  to  sing,  and  the  child  voices  took  it  up.  They  were 
singing  the  Salve  Regina,  set  to  a  tune  she  knew  well — 
"Hail,  Gladdening  Light,"  of  the  English  hymn-book. 

The  simple  devotion  of  the  children,  the  utter  spontaneity 
of  it — for  no  one  had  known  of  their  coming — affected 
Pamela  very  much,  more  indeed  than  she  cared  to  allow. 
"How  utterly  beautiful,"  she  whispered  to  the  priest  as 
they  finished. 

"Yes,"  he  said  tranquilly.  "Our  chief  hope  lies  in  the 
children." 

They  came  out  into  the  sun.  Chris  looked  antagonistic, 
Pamela  thought,  and  it  was  at  once  plain  that  she  was  right. 
"Forgive  me,"  he  said  to  the  priest,  "but  I  should  have 
thought  you  had  your  work  cut  out  to  teach  them  about  God 
without  dragging  in  the  Virgin." 

Fr.  Wilfrid  smiled.  "You  are  a  Protestant,  Mr.  Ashurst," 
he  said. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  am  anything  particularly,"  said  Chris, 
"but  that  is  how  it  strikes  me." 

"Well,  then,  Mr.  Ashurst,  you  will  at  least  allow  that  we 


312  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

who  believe  Almighty  God  to  have  manifested  Himself 
through  a  woman  may  be  excused  if  we  endeavour  to  con- 
tinue His  method." 

Chris  shook  his  head  obstinately.  "There's  a  flaw  in 
that,"  he  declared. 

"I  suppose  you  mean,"  said  Fr.  Wilfrid,  "that  that  first 
manifestation  was  a  unique  action  and  is  no  more  than  an 
event  past.  But  I  do  not  wholly  agree  with  you.  God  chose 
to  avail  Himself  of  the  chief  and  most  lovely  law  in  His 
universe — that  of  Motherhood.  He  uplifted,  ennobled  and 
blessed  it.  Mary,  like  the  rest  of  us,  was  immortal,  but  God, 
through  her,  has  made  motherhood  divine.  If  we  ever  come 
to  see  God,  Mr.  Ashurst,  we  shall  see  His  Mother  by  His 
side.  He  does  not  forget  or  change.  Therefore,  in  herself, 
Mary  has  an  eternal  function,  being  the  mother  in  a  very  real 
sense  of  all  her  Son's  brethren,  and  'He  is  not  ashamed  to 
call  us  brethren.'  And  even  possibly  more,  she  is  an  eternal 
star  in  our  night.  She  shows  us  that  motherhood  is  some- 
thing with  which  God  can  have  to  do,  and  that  in  motherhood 
even  the  least  of  these  poor  African  mothers  can  come  near 
to  Him." 

Chris  was  at  least  honest.  "We  see  things  very  differently, 
father,"  he  said,  "but  I  can  at  any  rate  understand  that  with 
such  ideals,  however  vain  to  me,  you  can  sacrifice  your  life 
to  such  a  work  as  this.  Still,  if  you  set  motherhood  so  high, 
why  not  set  a  good  example  and  marry?" 

"Ah  no,  Mr.  Ashurst,"  the  priest  said  quickly,  "there  is 
no  sacrifice.  Please  do  not  say  that.  I  would  not  exchange 
this  hut  and  my  old  cassock  for  anything  you  might  offer. 
Though  I  admit  I  could  do  with  a  new  one,"  he  added 
comically,  glancing  down  at  his  patched  robe.  "But  as  for 
celibacy,  why  that  is  a  matter  of  vocation.  Surely  you  are 
the  last  person  to  blame  us  for  imitating  her  Son!" 

"There's  another  flaw  in  that  too,"  declared  Chris,  but 
the  priest  said  no  more. 

A  little  later  they  were  shaking  hands.  Pamela  lingered 
a  moment,  and  the  two  men  left  her  to  walk  towards  the 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  313 

horses.  She  held  out  her  hand  to  the  missionary  with  a 
folded  note  in  it.  "Take  this  for  your  work,  father,"  she 
said,  "if  you  please.  And — and  say  a  prayer  for  one  who 
finds  it  hard  to  pray." 

He  thanked  her  courteously  and  glanced  quickly  at  her 
face,  seeming  as  if  he  would  ask  a  question.  But  whatever 
he  saw,  he  did  not.  "I  will,  Miss  Urfurd,"  he  said,  "very 
gladly.  And  perhaps  you  will  forgive  sne  if  I  ask  you  to 
remember,  should  you  need  it  at  any  time,  that  that  Son  and 
His  Mother  understand  human  hearts." 

"Chris,  you  were  almost  rude,"  said  Pamela  as  they  rode 
home. 

"Well,"  he  burst  out,  "the  whole  thing  annoyed  me.  Why 
come  to  Africa  to  teach  new  superstitions?  Haven't  Africans 
enough  of  their  own?  And  this  motherhood  business  is 
beyond  me.  It's  a  fact  of  nature,  but  there  is  no  need  to 
slobber  over  it." 

"I  thought  so  once,"  said  Pamela. 

"And  not  now  ?"  he  queried.  "Surely  the  sight  of  a  hand- 
ful of  brats  saying  Hail  Marys  isn't  going  to  upset  you !" 

Pamela's  face  hardened.  "There  are  moments,  Chris," 
she  said,  "when  you  show  yourself  singularly  dense.  It 
appears  to  me  that  we  have  been  set  a  lesson  these  last  six 
months,  and  you  haven't  begun  to  learn  the  first  syllable  yet. 
And  it's  a  pity;  you  may  need  it." 

Then  there  was  the  day  they  went  shooting.  The  police 
reported  some  buck  on  the  mountain  behind  the  station,  and 
they  all  three  went  after  them.  It  was  hard  work,  but  very 
glorious  up  there  on  a  ridge  of  the  world,  the  rolling  miles 
of  mountains,  fantastic  and  majestic,  all  around  them.  At 
last,  after  a  desperate  stalk  of  half  an  hour  just  under  a 
ridge,  they  came  in  sight  of  a  herd,  and  each  man  selected 
his  beast.  Chris  brought  his  down,  but  Mallory's  dashed  off 
wounded.  For  an  hour  or  more  they  tracked  it,  and  at  last, 
in  a  little  kloof,  came  suddenly  on  the  creature,  desperately 
wounded  and  unable  to  go  farther  or  escape  them.  Mallory 
stepped  quickly  forward  and  fired,  but  not  before  Pamela 


3H  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

had  seen  its  eyes  turned  on  them  with  a  look  of  terror  and 
pain  not  easily  forgotten. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  "the  poor  beastie!" 

"Yes,"  said  Chris,  looking  down  on  it,  "it's  easy  to  be 
absurdly  sentimental,  but  there  are  times  when  I  hate  myself 
for  shooting." 

Mallory  sat  down  and  spread  out  his  legs.  "Phew!"  he 
said,  "that's  tiring ;  do  sit  down,  Miss  Urf urd." 

Pamela  sat  down  likewise,  but  still  regarding  the  dead 
buck.  "What  a  horror  life  is,"  she  exclaimed  impulsively. 
"How?"  queried  Mallory,  looking  at  her  under  his  heavy 
bushy  eyebrows. 

"Oh  I  can't  exactly  explain,"  said  Pamela  dreamily,  "but 
it  all  came  over  me  at  the  sight  of  that  poor  desperate  thing. 
Think  of  it — the  sudden,  unexpected,  unexperienced,  un- 
known shock  of  the  bullet;  the  pain;  the  blood;  the  wild 
dash  for  safety ;  its  utter  exhaustion ;  and  then  our  incredibly 
awful  appearance,  hot  with  the  blood  lust,  eager  for  its 
death.  And  it's  a  picture  of  life.  Aren't  we  ourselves  struck 
down  again  and  again  by  just  that  sort  of  thing?  Look  at 
little  Ronnie  and  Hugh  and  Cecil.  Suddenly,  out  of  the  blue, 
the  blow  of  fate.  Or  we  are  driven  by  what  we  do  not  know, 
we  dash  here  and  there  to  escape.  We  would  give  anything 
to  get  away,  to  avoid,  but  fate  is  hard  on  our  heels — for  no 
motive  that  we  can  see,  and  utterly  merciless.  Oh  I  know 
it  is  easy  to  be  sentimental,  as  Chris  says,  and  foolish,  but 
that  is  life!  There  is  not  one  of  us  who  wholly  escapes  it. 
And  some  of  us  get  caught  in  the  toils  and  driven  against 
our  will  and  minds,  to  some  such  bloody  end  as  this." 

Chris,  who  had  been  standing  looking  at  the  dead  buck, 
turned  impulsively  and  threw  himself  on  the  ground  by  her 
side.  Mallory  sat  on,  regarding  them  both  quizzically.  He 
was  a  straightforward  sort  of  person  in  a  practical  straight- 
forward sort  of  job,  but  he  was  by  no  means  without  some 
sort  of  understanding  for  these  two  who  were  neither  of 
them  in  the  least  usual.  He  half  expected  Chris's  outburst. 

"And  yet  you  can  talk  about  God,  Pamela,  and  mother- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  315 

hood,  and  all  the  rest  of  it !  Can't  you  see  how  sickening  it 
all  is  by  the  side  of  reality?  Of  course  simple  primitive  folk 
find  some  sort  of  consolation  in  such  tales,  but  we  moderns, 
who  see  so  much  more  clearly  and  who  have  had  the  pretty 
delusions  smashed  fairly  extensively  about  us,  know  better. 
That's  why  the  modern  man  is  a  rebel.  He  knows  that  there 
is  no  god  in  heaven  or  earth  or  under  the  earth  but  himself, 
and  he  only  god  in  his  own  hour  and  right  if  he  masters 
himself,  sees  his  own  pleasures  and  ends,  and  moves  relent- 
lessly towards  them.  We  shot  this  poor  beast  who  has  done 
us  no  harm  and  was  as  glad  of  its  life  as  we  were,  simply  for 
an  hour's  amusement  and  perhaps,  secondarily,  for  an  unnec- 
essary flavour  in  to-night's  pot.  It's  damnable,  put  like  that. 
But  the  damnation  does  not  rest  on  us.  It  rests  on  what- 
ever blind  power,  in  whatever  fit  of  drunken  madness,  made 
the  world.  Nor  is  there  any  clue  to  any  escape.  Therefore, 
since  we  are  masters,  since  we,  for  example,  have  been  able 
to  make  such  a  deadly  foul  thing  as  this  rifle,  let  us  walk 
through  the  world  around  and  kill  our  fill.  And  at  the  last, 
if  there  be  a  throne  of  judgment  before  which  we  must 
stand,  well,  we  will  laugh  in  the  face  of  God  and  tell  Him  He 
is  welcome  to  break  and  torture  the  poor  devil  that  He 
Himself  was  brute  enough  to  make!" 

His  fierce  invective  wrought  absolutely  the  opposite  effect 
from  what  he  probably  expected  in  both  his  hearers.  A 
rather  sad  smile  gathered  on  Pamela's  face.  "You're  rather 
a  dear,  Chris,"  she  said,  heedless  of  Mallory,  "but  there  is 
no  escape  from  the  trap  by  that  road." 

And  then  Mallory  showed  them  suddenly  a  side  of  his 
character  not  often  seen.  "The  matter  with  you,  Ashurst," 
he  said,  "is  that  you've  seen  a  lot  of  life,  but  only  one  side 
of  it.  You  are  not  a  father.  Wait  till  you  see  your  wife  with 
her  first  baby  in  her  arms.  Then  say  your  say  of  God  and 
His  universe." 

Chris  was  most  lovable  in  that  he  could  take  a  defeat  and 
admit  it.  So  now  he  looked  at  the  speaker  for  awhile  in 
silence,  and  then  got  slowly  to  his  feet.  "A  month  ago, 


316  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Mallory,"  he  said  in  a  subdued  voice,  "I  should  have  laughed 
at  you.     But  by  God — though  I  do  not  know  Him — there 
may  be  something  in  what  you  say." 
As  for  Pamela,  she  hardly  spoke  all  the  long  road  home. 


HE  three  of  them  became  great  friends  in  the  ten  days 
A  or  so  they  eventually  spent  at  Mokhotlong,  and  when 
Pamela  declared  it  was  time  for  Chris  and  herself  to  con- 
tinue their  trek,  Mallory  offered  to  accompany  them  part 
of  the  way.  The  need  of  patrolling  the  Border  up  to  Mont 
aux  Sources  could  be  made  excuse  for  doing  so,  and  thus 
the  three  of  them  set  off  together.  It  was  a  queer  com- 
panionship. In  a  sense  the  long  days  together  remote  from 
the  world,  made  Chris  and  Pamela  both  forget  for  a  while 
the  interwoven  story  of  life  in  which  they  had  their  parts 
to  play,  each  surrendering  to  the  moment  and  allowing 
Mallory's  ignorance  of  so  much  of  that  story  to  serve  as  a 
protection.  To  him  they  were  simply  unconventional 
cousins,  and  Cecil  no  more  than  the  friend  of  both  of  them. 
They  had  perforce  to  hide  from  him  knowledge  of  the  rest, 
and  in  so  doing  lapsed  easily  into  a  frank  friendship.  But 
out  of  that  very  friendship  something  else  grew  in  Pamela's 
case,  grew  against  the  day  when  they  were  once  more  alone 
together  for,  as  it  were,  the  last  act  in  the  drama. 

Mont  aux  Sources  had  been  visited,  and  a  night  spent  in 
"The  Eagle's  Nest."  Then,  after  a  consultation  with  a 
sergeant  of  native  police  who  knew  the  country  well,  the 
three  had  ridden  west  until  they  struck  a  broad  trail  run- 
ning north  and  south  in  its  lonely  way  across  those  upland 
solitudes.  Here  they  drew  rein.  "There  you  are,"  said 
Mallory.  "I  go  south,  and  this  road  will  land  me  at  Mok- 
hotlong again;  you  ride  north,  and  you  will  find  it  veer 
west  in  an  hour  or  two  and  bring  you  out  at  the  summit  of 
the  Moteng.  You  should  be  there  soon  after  mid-day. 
Then,  if  you  like,  you  can  make  a  store  for  the  night,  or 


3i8  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

else  sleep  at  the  foot  of  the  Pass  and  make  Butha-Buthe 
the  next  day.  Butha-Buthe  is  a  couple  of  hours  only  from 
the  railway  and  you  could  if  you  wish  catch  the  night  train. 
Or  else  ride  on  south  to  Leribe — it's  a  road  worth  seeing 
— and  catch  the  train  the  day  after  at  Ficksburg." 

"Sure  you  can't  come?"  queried  Chris. 

"No,"  said  the  other,  shaking  his  head.  "It's  all  right 
up  here  and  I'm  in  my  own  district  still,  but  you'll  see  what 
the  Pass  is  like.  One  doesn't  go  up  or  down  it  just  for 
fun.  And  once  down,  I'm  trespassing  in  another  district 
and  should  have  to  give  a  reason  why." 

"Am  I  not  good  enough  reason?"  laughed  Pamela. 

"I  fear  not,  Miss  Urfurd,"  said  Mallory  smiling.  "If 
we  could  make  away  with  Ashurst  now,  then  I  should  have 
to  escort  you  home,  but  as  it  is  .  .  ." 

"You  see  what  a  nuisance  you  are,  Chris,"  said  she. 

So  they  had  parted,  and  now  at  mid-day  the  cousins  stood 
dismounted  at  the  lip  of  the  great  Pass.  It  was,  indeed,  a 
wonderful  sight.  The  tiny  trail  slipped  out  of  sight  below 
them  between  two  towering  bastions  that  rose,  one  on  either 
side,  as  if  on  guard,  and  they  had  literally  to  crane  over  to 
see  it  winding  among  the  stones  for  the  first  thousand  feet 
of  the  precipitous  descent.  Thence,  the  Pass  widened  out 
like  a  funnel.  Spikes  of  rock,  each  crag  hundreds  of  feet 
high,  rose  from  below,  with  other  bastions,  peaks  and  foot- 
hills among  which  nestled  at  last  the  little  river  that  owed 
its  existence  to  the  hundred  tiny  springs  bubbling  up  in  this 
split  mountain  gorge.  Away  and  away  in  the  Free  State, 
across  lower  Basutoland,  which,  from  this  height  looked  no 
more  than  a  flat  plain,  other  mountains  rose  on  the  hori- 
zon, the  sun  gleaming  golden  on  them  so  that  they  looked 
like  a  Promised  Land.  Between,  in  one  place,  a  storm  was 
in  progress.  The  plane  of  their  sight  was  far  above  that 
of  the  clustering  black  clouds  which,  to  those  beneath  them, 
would  have  seemed  to  be  all  but  the  entire  sky,  and  they 
could  watch  the  rods  of  falling  rain.  Intense  stillness 
hemmed  them  in.  The  boys  were  a  mile  or  so  behind,  and 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  319 

only  a  little  wind  sang  gently  among  the  great  rocks  and 
stirred  the  long  grasses. 

They  stood  side  by  side,  their  horses  grazing  a  few  yards 
away.  And  for  some  minutes  neither  spoke.  Each  was 
realising  that  their  mountaineering  was  all  but  at  an  end; 
that  the  respite  was  over;  that  down  below  lay  the  world 
of  life  and  the  stage  upon  which  they  had  each  a  part  to 
play.  Pamela  thought  fiercely  of  the  start,  now  weeks 
before,  on  that  other  side  behind  them,  and  of  her  plot 
to  save  Cecil ;  and  she  realised  suddenly  how  much  more 
had  come  of  it  than  she  had  intended.  In  a  few  hours  they 
would  be  below  again,  and  what  then?  She  felt  as  if  she 
had  been  dreaming  these  last  few  days,  but  was  awake  again 
at  last.  Of  what  was  Chris  thinking?  What  was,  after 
all,  to  be  the  end  ? 

Her  eyes  narrowed  as  she  stood  there  gazing,  and  her 
mouth  hardened  a  little.  Had  she  yet  saved  Cecil?  And 
what  about  herself? 

"Twenty-four  hours,  Chris,"  she  said,  "and  as  like  as  not 
we'll  be  in  the  train.  Can  you  realise  it  ?" 

He  shook  his  head,  still  silent. 

"What  are  your  plans,  old  boy  ?"  she  asked. 

He  did  not  reply  at  once,  and  then  Socratic  fashion. 
"Pam,"  he  demanded  suddenly,  "do  you  think  I  can  return 
to  Cecily  yet?" 

Pamela  heard  but  did  not  look  at  him.  She  swept  that 
great  expanse  below  her,  and  time  seemed  to  stand  still 
as  it  will  at  a  crisis.  Characteristically,  it  was  in  that  mo- 
ment that  she  made  up  her  mind,  indeed  in  that  moment 
she  saw  her  own  mind  clearly  for  the  first  time  since  they 
had  set  out  together.  She  knew,  then,  her  deeper  purpose, 
and  how  it  merged  with  her  promise  to  Cecil.  She  sur- 
veyed the  lists,  and  knew  them  to  be  set  for  the  last  encoun- 
ter. And  it  was  not  in  Pamela  to  fight  with  gloved  hands. 

"I  must  think,  Chris,"  she  said.  "I'll  tell  you  later.  Let's 
get  on  down.  The  boys  are  coming,  and  we  had  better  be 
well  ahead  of  the  packs." 


320  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Scrambling,  slipping,  shouting  at  the  horses,  panting  for 
breath  and  now  and  again  resting  in  temporary  exhaus- 
tion, they  descended.  They  had  to  negotiate  three  thou- 
sand feet  of  mountain  side  as  steep  as  it  is  possible  to  get 
a  Basuto  pony  up  or  down,  and  what  exactly  that  means 
has  to  be  experienced  to  be  realised.  It  was  well  on  in  the 
afternoon  before  they  reached  a  bit  of  open  ground  at  the 
mouth  of  a  little  kloof  and  saw  by  the  track  ahead  that  it 
was  possible  to  mount  their  horses  there.  A  stream  flowed 
at  their  feet,  and  another  purred  down  from  the  kloof  to 
meet  it.  Pamela  threw  herself  on  the  ground  and  laved 
her  hands  in  the  water.  It  was  quite  hot  down  there, 
although  it  had  been  cold  enough  on  the  top. 

"Well?"  she  queried. 

Chris  looked  round  and  smiled.  "Yes,"  he  said.  "I  take 
it  that  the  committee  is  agreed.  There  may  very  likely  be 
a  store  three  hours  on;  I  can  quite  believe  it;  but  it  can 
stay  there  comfortably  without  our  bothering  it.  I  vote  we 
camp  our  last  night  right  here." 

"Carried,"  said  Pamela,  "only  I  propose  we  pitch  the 
tents  a  bit  up  that  kloof  so  as  to  be  away  from  the  road." 

There  was  the  usual  hour's  bustle,  but  at  last  nothing 
more  remained  to  be  done  but  to  wait  for  the  dinner  to 
finish  cooking.  The  two  tents  stood  close  to  each  other  in 
a  little  semicircle  of  bush,  and  in  the  centre  of  its  chord 
burned  the  fire.  Saddles  had  been  piled  out  of  sight  where 
the  boys  would  sleep,  away  among  the  bushes  to  the  right 
and  in  the  lee  of  the  side  of  the  krantz.  The  two  whites 
were  sitting  on  a  blanket  by  the  clear  purling  water,  deal- 
ing, as  is  fitting  at  the  close  of  the  day,  with  sundowners 
and  tobacco. 

Chris  himself  opened  the  conversation.  "Pam,"  he  said, 
"I  can't  forget  that  day  we  visited  the  Mission,  and  our 
talk  when  we  had  shot  the  buck.  What  do  you  honestly 
make  of  life?  We're  going  back  to  it  now,  and  there  is 
still  in  my  mind  what  you  forced  me  into  saying  that  day. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  321 

I  begin  to  wonder  if  things  do  really  look  to  me  exactly 
as  they  once  looked.  But  I  can't  straighten  them  out  at  all." 

"How  precisely  do  you  mean?"  Pamela  asked  him 
slowly. 

Chris  moved  restlessly.  "Oh,"  he  said,  "I  know  I  put 
it  badly  then,  and  I  know  I  can't  put  it  very  much  better 
now.  But  it  comes  to  this,  Pam :  I'm  going  back  to  Cecil  to 
persuade  her  to  rebel,  to  break  laws,  to  strike  out  as  an 
individualist,  and  I  know  she  will  agree  and  rebel  with  me. 
But  all  these  weeks  up  in  these  mountains  I've  been  won- 
dering more  and  more  if — well,  if  perhaps  there  isn't  more 
in  things  than  I've  allowed.  Up  here  there  are  no  trap- 
pings or  fripperies  in  nature.  It's  all  gaunt  and  huge  and 
nude.  I  get  a  kind  of  fear  as  I  think  of  it.  It's  not  merely 
conscience,  of  which  I  don't  think  I  have  much.  But  one 
might  dash  oneself  to  pieces  against  these  rocks,  and  they 
would  not  care.  The  Power  that  set  them  here  would  not 
be  moved.  The  eternal  plans  and  purposes  would  go  on 
working  themselves  out.  It  comes  to  this:  Can  one  rebel? 
Is  not  rebellion  no  more  than  a  mad  kind  of  suicide?  Can 
one  rebel,  Pam?" 

Pamela  rolled  over  on  to  her  chest  and  stared  up  at  him 
with  an  almost  savage  look  in  her  eyes.  "One  can,"  she 
said  huskily. 

He  glanced  at  her  curiously.  "What  do  you  mean?"  he 
asked  in  his  turn. 

"Some  of  us  are  not  made  to  submit,  Chris,"  she  said. 
"We're  born  rebels.  I  see  what  your  mountains  mean  and 
say  to  you,  but  a  fig  for  them!  Man  is  the  master  of 
things.  I  see  that  some  submit;  more  are  driven  to  sub- 
mit ;  some  are  born  under  the  law  and  stay  there ;  but  some 
are  not.  I  am  not.  You  are  not." 

"And  Cecil?"  he  inquired,  under  her  spell. 

Pamela  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Then  she  stretched  out 
a  hand  and  placed  it  on  his  arm.  "Does  that  matter  just 
now?"  she  whispered  softly. 


322  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

He  made  no  reply,  but  she  felt  a  quiver  pass  through 
him,  and  she  went  on  speaking  intensely.  "Chris,  listen  to 
me.  There's  so  much  that  one  doesn't  know  and  can't 
know,  and  surely  it  is  only  the  cowards  who  fear  what  they 
do  know  for  the  sake  of  what  they  do  not.  And  I  don't 
fear  to  tell  you  what  I  know,  Chris,  know  about  myself 
and  know  about  you.  We're  both  rather  primitive  people, 
Chris,  passionate  folk,  eh,  my  dear?  The  conventions 
don't  appeal  to  us  much.  They  were  framed  for  the  soft 
people  and  the  cowards.  It's  in  revolt,  in  passion,  in  fierce 
things,  that  joy  lies  for  you  and  me.  Aren't  we  alike  in 
that,  Chris?" 

The  man  beside  her  moved  his  arm  that  he  might  take 
her  hand,  and  he  drew  her  a  little  towards  him.  The 
movement,  slight  as  it  was,  broke  down  the  last  barrier  of 
her  restraint,  and  with  the  fierceness  of  a  wild  thing  she 
sought  to  make  him  her  own.  Yes,  sought,  though  she  lay 
still  on  the  ground  and  the  colour  ebbed  from  her  face,  and 
left  her  eyes,  narrowed  and  burning,  to  glow  at  him  out 
of  her  white  skin. 

"Yes  we  are,"  she  cried  in  a  torrent  of  speech,  "and  that 
is  why  I  can  talk  to  you  instead  of  waiting  like  some  soft 
drawing-room  girl  for  you  to  talk  to  me.  Chris,  I  love 
you — why  I  don't  know,  but  as  I  think  you  have  never 
been  loved  and  never  will  be  again.  I  love  you — not  mar- 
riage, not  children,  not  a  position,  but  just  you.  You  need 
not  marry  me — I'll  go  round  the  world  with  you  as  your 
mistress;  you  need  give  me  no  child,  though  if  you  like  I 
will  bear  you  children;  but  give  me  love,  Chris,  feed  the 
flame  in  me,  meet  the  need  in  me,  satisfy  yourself  with  me, 
Chris,  and  so  give  me  the  satisfaction  that  I  want.  When 
you  have  done  with  me,  say  so;  I  shall  know  what  to  do. 
But  love  is  the  reality  of  life,  Chris,  and  Chris,  Chris,  give 
me  love!" 

Chris  bent  over  her,  and  caressed  her  cheek  with  his 
hand.  But  he  did  not  even  kiss  her.  Emotion  was  rising 
in  him  like  a  flood,  and  the  stirrings  of  desire  as  the 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  323 

thought  grew  steadily  in  his  own  consciousness  that  this 
woman  was  his,  there  and  then,  if  he  cared  to  take  her; 
but  the  very  strangeness  of  this  love-making  seemed  to 
make  the  conventional  signs  of  it  unnecessary  and  foolish. 
And  as  he  caressed,  she  continued.  "Have  you  never  seen 
these  natives  talk  together?  I  have,  a  hundred  times. 
Chris,  I've  wished  before  now  that  I  could  be  as  free  as 
they.  Why  the  man  scarcely  woos  the  girl  at  all !  He  sees 
her,  he  desires  her,  and  he  orders  her  to  follow  him.  And 
as  a  rule  she  goes.  There's  something  fine  in  it.  It  is 
afterwards  that  arrangements  are  made  and  their  little  rules 
and  conventions  of  life  come  in.  But  it  is  that  wild  rap- 
ture of  living  that  I  want,  and  want  now  from  you,  Chris. 
Let's  turn  and  go  back  the  way  we've  come!  Not  to  the 
Camp,  but  back  to  the  mountains,  back  to  our  cave,  back 
to  the  clean  air  and  water  and  grass.  Don't  let's  go  back 
to  drawing-rooms  and  cities,  Chris.  Will  you?  Do  you 
hate  me?  Can't  you  be  glad  in  me,  Chris?" 

Before  he  could  reply,  there  was  a  sound  in  the  bushes 
of  some  one's  approach,  and  he  had  scarcely  time  to  with- 
draw his  hand  when  Philip  stepped  out.  "Dinner  ready, 
morena,"  he  said,  utterly  unconscious  of  the  bathos,  and 
smiled  at  them  and  turned  away.  Chris  caught  his  breath 
and  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  Pamela  rose  to  hers.  So  they 
stood,  looking  each  other  for  a  second  or  two  in  the  face. 
Then  a  smile  gathered  slowly  in  the  girl's,  and  frankly  and 
impulsively  she  held  out  her  hands.  "Well?"  she  queried, 
"am  I  impossible,  Chris?" 

Passion  flared  up  in  him.  He  ignored  her  hands,  but 
caught  her  by  the  shoulders  and  drew  her  to  him  fiercely. 
"God !  no,  Pamela,"  he  exclaimed.  "You  offer  all  you  have 
to  give  and  do  you  think  I  don't  love  you  for  it?  See,  I 
thank  you — so,"  and  he  kissed  her  hard  upon  the  lips. 
"There,  I  take  that,  but  more  I  will  not  take — not  now  at 
any  rate,  and  I  think  never.  For  I  can't  turn  back.  If  I 
took  all  that  you  offer  me — and  I  love  you,  savage  woman 
that  you  are,  for  offering  it — then  I  would  indeed  turn  back. 


324  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

I  could  not  help  it.  We  would  wander  off  together, 
Pamela,  you  and  I."  He  laughed.  "God,  Pam,  it  would  be 
great !  You  tempt  me !  But  I  won't.  I  go  on." 

"Why,  Chris?"  she  begged,  her  heart  faint  within  her. 

"Why?"  he  queried,  still  holding  her,  "why?  Because 
I've  looked  on  Eve,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "and  she  was  made 
for  me." 

For  Pamela,  time  hung  still.  Then  she  mastered  herself 
and  it,  as  few  could  have  done.  "Let's  eat,"  she  said  laugh- 
ing a  little.  "I'm  actually  hungry  and  that's  another  primi- 
tive passion." 

They  walked  arm  in  arm  to  the  fire  for  the  last  stew 
of  the  trek,  and  Chris  doled  it  out,  Pamela  watching  him. 
They  ate  at  first  in  silence,  but  then  she  said:  "I'm  not  a 
bit  sorry  we  had  that  scene,  Chris.  A  barrier  is  down  be- 
tween us.  I'm  even  happier  to-night  than  I've  been  any 
night  before." 

"You're  a  queer  person,  Pam,"  he  replied;  "why?" 

"Because  we  don't  pretend  any  more.  Because  we  shan't 
surprise  each  other  any  more.  Because  I  know  you  better 
now,  and  you  me.  And  because  I  love  you,  I'm  glad  of 
all  these  things.  When  we've  finished  supper,  we'll  sit 
together  on  a  rug  and  talk  of  life  and  prospects  of  life, 
shall  we?" 

Chris  was  a  little  piqued.  She  appeared  to  take  it  so 
easily.  "Do  you  really  love  me,  Pam?"  he  asked.  "If  you 
do,  how  can  you  talk  so  lightly  of  the  future?" 

Pamela  tipped  off  a  mug  of  tea  and  put  it  down.  She 
spoke  easily,  but  her  hand  shook  a  little.  "Oh  yes,  I  love 
you,  Chris,"  she  said.  "Look  here,  my  offer  stands.  It 
stands  till  we  part.  Isn't  that  proof  enough?" 

"Are  you  flesh  and  blood  at  all,  Pam?"  he  asked  slowly. 
"Do  you  know  how  you  tempt  me?" 

"I  don't,"  she  said,  and  dared  to  smile  in  the  firelight. 
"There's  a  stronger  than  I." 

He  moved  uneasily,  and  Pam  noted  it.     She  chuckled 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  325 

to  herself,  her  face  hidden.  The  battle  was  not  yet  over. 
She  was  stronger  for  her  very  defeat. 

So  in  the  glow  of  the  dying  fire,  they  sat  together.  Chris 
put  his  arms  about  her  and  she  leaned  against  him,  though 
she  made  no  other  movement  to  attract  his  caresses.  "TeL 
me  what  you  will  do  when  you  get  back,"  he  asked  curiously. 

"Seek  out  Nanea,"  said  Pamela  promptly,  "and  make 
her  speak  again.  I've  dabbled  before  in  the  thing;  I  shall 
plunge  right  in  now.  I  shall  see  what  I  can  do  with  Auntie 
Tot,  and  this  boy  Philip,  I  fancy.  What  shall  you  do  ?" 

"Go  on  to  Jo'burg  and  the  Northern  Transvaal,  and  then 
back  to  Kokstad.  Shall  I  come  and  visit  you  on  the  way  ?" 

"Oh  no,"  said  Pamela. 

Chris  frowned  in  the  dark.  He  felt  himself  slighted 
again.  "Why  not?"  he  asked,  kicking  the  embers  into  a 
sudden  spurt  of  flame. 

"I  will  keep  my  memories,"  said  Pamela. 

Chris  stroked  her  hand.  "Oh  my  dear,"  he  said,  "I'm 
so  sorry." 

"You  need  not  be,"  said  Pamela.  "What  is,  is.  I  think 
if  one  only  rebels  it  does  not  matter  so  much  if  rebellion 
be  unsatisfactory.  But  you  will  end  by  drifting  with  the 
stream.  Life  will  hold  you,  despite  your  will.  Probably 
you'll  end  in  a  London  suburb  with  a  host  of  children.  But 
not  I.  Adam  and  Eve  bowed  to  the  inevitable,  and  they 
ended  by  fighting  thistles  for  their  daily  bread.  The  Arabs 
say  Lilith  wandered  into  Africa  and  died  in  Kilimanjaro, 
where  natives  worship  at  her  grave  to  this  day.  Perhaps, 
in  a  hundred  years,  they  will  be  worshipping  my  remains 
in  some  cave  in  Pondoland.  No,  in  my  own  cave.  It 
doesn't  matter.  It's  as  good  an  end  as  any." 

"And  if  we  went  back  together?"  queried  Chris. 

The  girl  grew  still  in  his  arms.    "Well?"  he  repeated. 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  said.  "That  road  is  eastward  at 
least,  towards  the  sun." 

Chris  touched  her  hair  with  his  lips.    "Witch,"  he  whis- 


326  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

pered,  "you  tempt  me.  I  do  not  know  my  own  mind  to- 
night." 

And  then  Pamela  made  a  mistake.  "That  is  not  like 
you,  Chris,"  she  said.  "You  knew  it  clearly  enough  in 
Kokstad." 

A  log  fell  in  the  fire  and  sparks  shot  up.  Chris  loosened 
her  arm.  "By  God,  I  did,"  he  said  in  a  changed  voice. 
"Thank  you  for  reminding  me,  dear.  That  was  daylight. 
Let's  to  bed." 

But  he  kissed  her  as  they  parted  for  the  night,  and  no 
kiss  is  without  significance.  In  his  tent,  it  was  Pamela 
who  filled  his  thoughts,  and  in  hers,  Pamela  lay  very  long 
staring  upwards  at  the  canvas  above  her. 

The  next  day  they  reached  the  camp  of  Butha-Buthe, 
riding  up  the  steep  cross-country  path,  past  the  Residency 
garden  and  the  police  huts  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  draw- 
ing rein  in  the  little  street  with  its  three  stores  and  one 
other  European  house  and  the  veld  stretching  wide  and  free 
behind  and  before. 

Butha-Buthe  welcomed  them  in  the  fashion  of  the  coun- 
try. Chris  went  up  to  the  magistrate's  office  to  inquire  the 
way,  and  found  a  short,  prematurely  rather  grey-haired 
man  who  was  very  courteous  and  plainly  delighted  to  see 
him.  He  asked  how  far  they  had  come  that  day  and  abso- 
lutely refused  to  let  them  go  on.  He  walked  with  them 
across  the  road  to  his  house,  sent  the  boys  and  horses  to 
the  stables,  and  introduced  them  to  his  wife.  While  tea 
was  preparing,  he  insisted  on  giving  Chris  a  whisky  and 
soda,  and  his  wife  took  Pamela  to  her  room.  She  was  a 
short  dark-haired  attractive  girl  whom  Pamela  plainly  im- 
pressed. 

"You  must  have  had  a  perfectly  thrilling  time,"  she  said. 
"I  wish  I  could  do  something  like  that.  But  I've  got  babies, 
you  know.  They  finish  you." 

"How  many?"  queried  Pamela,  amused. 

"Two,  both  girls,  and  rather  dears — you  shall  see  them. 
And  how  long  have  you  been  on  trek?" 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  327 

Pamela  told  her.  "Aren't  you  scandalised  at  my  going 
alone  with  Chris?"  she  asked. 

"Heavens,  no!"  exclaimed  the  other.  "Jolly  sporting,  I 
call  it.  Besides  he  was  introduced  as  your  cousin.  Isn't 
he?" 

"A  little  distant,"  said  Pamela  smiling,  and  to  see  what 
she  would  say. 

"Well,  make  him  a  first  to  my  husband,"  the  girl  said. 
"He's  rather  proper  really.  Personally,  I  should  have  gone 
with  him  if  he  had  been  no  relation  at  all.  I've  read  his 
novels,  and  I  could  not  have  resisted  it." 

"Don't  tell  Chris,"  said  Pamela.  "He's  quite  conceited 
enough  already,  though  he  does  hide  it  rather  nicely." 

So  they  had  tea  on  the  stoep,  and  then  wandered  in  the 
rose-garden  and  admired  a  new  pergola;  and  Pamela 
watched  the  babies  bathed  and  was  not  at  all  sure  that  she 
would  not  have  given  a  good  deal  for  two  herself.  And 
then,  after  dinner,  they  played  auction  while  the  crickets 
cried  in  the  roses,  and  under  the  willows,  below  the  garden, 
the  frogs  croaked  in  the  little  stream. 

The  magistrate  had  a  trap,  and  in  the  morning  insisted 
on  offering  it  to  them.  He  and  Chris  had  a  consultation, 
and  it  ended  in  the  boys  and  horses  being  left  there  to  rest, 
thence  to  be  sent  back  by  the  direct  road  in  ten  days'  time. 
The  trap  was  brought  round  about  eleven,  and  not  without 
much  pressing  to  stay  another  day  (or  another  week)  they 
climbed  into  it.  It  was  explained  that  at  Fouriesburg  they 
must  lunch,  and  get  a  taxi  later  on  to  the  station  some  miles 
distant  from  the  dorp.  Then  the  train  would  take  them 
both  to  Ladysmith,  where  Chris  would  change  in  the  early 
hours  for  the  Johannesburg  mail,  and  Pamela,  by  sitting 
still,  get  finally  to  Durban  in  the  afternoon.  Philip  and 
Motseke  came  up  for  good-byes.  Philip  begged  Chris,  to 
whom  he  had  taken  a  fancy,  to  come  up  to  Three  Springs 
and  arrange  another  trek,  and  Motseke  talked  at  length  in 
Sesuto. 

"What  does  he  say?"  Chris  demanded. 


328  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Pamela  had  the  grace  to  blush,  seeing  there  was  com- 
pany listening,  but  Mrs.  Magistrate,  who  had  overheard, 
was  highly  amused.  She  glanced  round  and  saw  that  her 
husband  was  out  of  earshot.  "He  says,  Mr.  Ashurst,  that 
if  you  and  Missus  set  up  house  together,  here  or  anywhere, 
you  must  be  sure  to  send  for  him !" 

Pamela  recovered.  She  shot  a  glance  at  Chris,  and  said 
to  her  new  friend:  "That  wasn't  all." 

It  was  the  other's  turn  to  look  a  little  confused.  "He 
says  he's  good  with  babies,  Chris,"  said  Pamela. 

"You  are  an  awful  pair,"  laughed  their  hostess.  "Get 
in,  for  goodness'  sake.  Good-bye,  but  come  again  and  stay 
a  decent  time." 

"The  voice  of  Basutoland — 'Good-bye,  but  come  again,' " 
said  Chris  as  they  drove  off.  "Heavens,  Pam,  but  they're 
a  jolly  set." 

It  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  both  of  them  found 
it  hard  to  be  cheerful  on  the  way  to  the  station.  An  experi- 
ence not  likely  to  repeat  itself  was  over,  and  each  had  per- 
sonal reflections  to  make  on  it.  The  day,  even,  was  cloudy, 
and  Fouriesburg  is  of  all  places  the  most  depressing  at  any 
time.  Presently,  over  the  veld,  the  hideous  red  and  white 
brick  towers  of  its  Dutch  Reformed  Church  came  into 
view,  and  at  length  they  drove  down  the  deserted  street. 
At  the  hotel,  a  sleepy  waiter  thought  they  could  have  lunch- 
eon in  an  hour  and  told  them  that  a  car  would  be  going 
to  the  station  in  which  they  could  have  seats.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  during  the  hour  but  wander  about  among  the 
stores  and  bungalows  and  speculate  as  to  what  man  did  in 
such  a  place.  By  meal  time,  however,  things  looked  more 
cheerful,  for  a  dozen  of  young  Dutchmen  were  drinking 
in  the  bar  and  there  was  a  car  or  two  before  the  hotel  stoep. 
But  the  meal  itself  was  a  feeble  performance,  and  when 
Chris  said  that  he  wished  Philip  was  serving  them  a  stew 
in  the  Moteng  Pass,  Pamela  felt  that  she  wanted  to  get  up 
and  cry. 

At  the  little  station  they  had  not  long  to  wait,  and  the 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  329 

conductor  had  had  their  wire  and  reserved  them  a  coupe. 
Once  in,  and  their  little  baggage  stowed  away,  they  watched 
the  distant  mountains  in  the  dying  light,  till  stars  twinkled 
over  the  veld  and  it  was  time  to  dine. 

The  dining  car  was  cheerful,  and  its  lights  roused  them. 
Chris  insisted  on  champagne  as  a  fitting  climax,  and  they 
got  back  to  their  compartment  pleasantly  stimulated.  A 
half-caste  knocked  at  the  door.  "Beds,  sir?"  he  queried. 

Chris  looked  at  Pamela  and  laughed.  "Shall  I  tell  him 
to  make  up  two?"  he  demanded. 

Pamela  glanced  from  him  to  the  waiting  boy  with  a  flicker 
of  amusement  in  her  face.  "No,"  she  said,  sotto  voce,  "we 
can't  now,  Chris.  Anybody  might  be  on  the  train." 

Chris  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  'Is  Saul  also  among 
the  prophets  ?'  "  he  quoted  good-humouredly.  Then  to  the 
boy,  "Make  up  one" ;  and  to  Pamela :  "Come  on ;  let's  stand 
in  the  corridor  while  he  does  it." 

Outside  Pamela  gravely  selected  a  coin.  "Toss  you  for 
the  bed,"  she  said. 

He  shook  his  head.  "Oh  no.  We  go  back  to  the  con- 
ventions, I  see,  so  of  course  it's  yours." 

"Well,  what  will  you  do?" 

"Get  another  place,  I  suppose." 

"What's  next  door?" 

It  proved  to  be  the  other  half  of  their  coupe,  and  empty. 
"By  Jove,  what  huge  luck !"  cried  Chris.  "Here,  boy,  shove 
a  second  bed  in  here." 

There  was  a  door  between  the  two  compartments,  and 
when  the  lights  in  both  were  on  and  their  goods  divided 
and  the  doors  on  to  the  corridor  shut,  a  sense  of  isolation 
and  of  their  own  proximity  descended  upon  them  such  as 
they  had  not  had  even  on  trek.  In  the  mountains,  it  had 
seemed  far  less  strange,  far  less  provocative,  that  they 
should  sleep  near  each  other.  Here,  in  civilisation,  each 
dressed  accordingly,  there  was  a  new  sensation  to  face. 
Pamela's  heart  beat  fiercely.  She  had  hoped  for  this,  but 
she  herself  had  scarcely  realised  what  it  would  mean. 


330  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

They  chatted  desultorily,  and  at  Bethlehem  got  out  to 
walk  the  platform  during  the  few  minutes'  wait.  "Have 
some  coffee?"  asked  Chris,  and  Pamela  consented.  They 
were  served  in  the  little  refreshment  room,  and  then,  arm  in 
arm,  walked  the  length  of  the  station  in  the  dark,  back 
through  the  lights  of  the  central  portion,  and  out  into  the 
dark  beyond  again. 

"Did  you  see  anyone  you  knew?"  queried  Chris. 

"Not  one,"  said  Pamela,  "but  I'll  look  again." 

So  they  strolled  back.  The  passengers,  mostly  men,  were 
grouped  at  the  doors  of  the  compartments  or  strolling  about 
as  they  themselves  were  doing,  but  they  recognised  none. 
When  the  whistle  blew,  they  re-entered  the  carriage  with 
that  sense  of  loneliness  which  is  only  to  be  obtained  among 
unknown  human  faces. 

"Have  a  nightcap  with  me,  Pam,"  said  Chris,  and  got 
out  his  flask. 

The  swaying  train  rocked  through  the  night  and  their 
glasses  chinked.  "Here's  to  you,  dear,"  he  said,  and  she 
smiled  her  reply. 

Then  a  cigarette;  and  constraint  settled  upon  them  in 
some  measure.  "Let's  go  and  look  at  the  night  before  we 
turn  in,"  suggested  Pamela. 

So  they  stood  together,  arm  in  arm,  on  the  creaking  cab 
of  the  carriage.  The  stars  shone  down  peacefully  on  the 
black  veld,  big  and  sparkling  and  unclouded,  and  the  two 
watched  in  silence. 

"Say  something,  Pam,"  said  Chris. 

"What  am  I  to  say?"  she  asked  softly. 

"Say  you've  enjoyed  yourself,"  he  demanded  foolishly. 

"I've  enjoyed  myself  very  much,  thank  you  Christopher," 
she  said. 

His  hand  tightened  on  her  arm,  and  she  glanced  up  at 
him  in  the  feeble  light  of  the  poor  lamp  that  burned  above 
their  heads.  Their  eyes  met,  and  something  ran  through 
his  veins  like  fire.  She  looked  delectably  feminine,  and  he 
had  scarcely  noticed  just  that  trait  before.  Her  hair 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  331 

escaped  from  the  little  hat  and  her  lips  were  parted  slightly. 

"Oh,  Pam,"  he  exclaimed  with  sudden  realisation,  "we 
shall  never  have  this  again." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  his  own  heart  questioned  why 
not?  Why  not  consummate  the  journey  and  their  rela- 
tionship? Why  not  carry  both  on  indefinitely?  Why  not 
go  back  to  their  silent  compartment  with  that  unlocked 
door  between,  and  gather  her  into  his  arms  and  drink  her 
love?  He  knew  well  enough  she  would  not  refuse.  Fate 
thrust  his  happiness  into  his  hands ;  should  he  finally  reject 
it?  And  the  train  raced  over  its  iron  way  and  roared 
through  the  night. 

"Let's  go  back,"  he  whispered,  and  hardly  knew  his  own 
voice. 

The  corridor  door  was  shut.  He  took  her  in  his  arms. 
"Chris,"  she  whispered.  He  bent  his  lips  to  hers,  and  so 
they  stayed,  locked  for  a  moment  in  an  embrace.  He  released 
her.  "I've  been  a  fool  these  weeks,"  he  heard  himself 
say. 

Pamela  raised  her  hands  and  took  off  her  hat  deliberately. 
She  placed  it  on  the  rack  and  turned  back  to  him.  "Go  and 
change.  Chris,"  she  said,  but  she  did  not  meet  his  eyes. 
"Don't  shut  the  door;  let's  talk  while  we  undress." 

They  talked — fragments  of  stupid  sayings  while  all  the 
while  something  hammered  in  his  ears  and  desire  tingled  in 
his  body.  "Isn't  it  hard  to  undress  in  a  carriage?"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  called  back,  "but  harder  for  me  than  for  you." 

"Why?" 

"Oh  trousers — terrible  things  to  get  off." 

A  ripple  of  laughter.  "We've  got  as  bad;  sit  on  your 
bunk." 

"Can't.    I  knock  my  head.    There!— I've  done  it!" 

"Poor  old  thing,"  she  replied.  "Shall  I  come  and  rub 
it?" 

"Half  a  moment.    I'm  just  getting  into  my  pyjamas." 

He  reached  for  them,  a  new  folded  pair  among  the  clean 
linen  kept  for  this  final  stage  of  the  journey.  And  as  he 


332  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

took  them  down,  a  tiny  crumpled  handkerchief  slipped  out 
and  fell  to  the  floor.  He  stooped  for  it — ridiculous  in  his 
shirt — and  fumbled  for  the  corner  and  the  initials.  There 
was  suddenly  a  mist  before  his  eyes.  He  remembered  his 
finding  it  while  packing  at  Kokstad,  and  his  not  returning 
it.  Yes,  there  they  were.  "C.  S." 

Pamela  slipped  on  a  soft  embroidered  night-gown,  hung 
by  ribbons  on  the  shoulders,  transparent  at  the  breast.  She, 
too,  had  been  reserving  this.  She  glanced  at  herself  in  the 
little  glass,  and  considered  a  minute.  He  was  very  quiet. 
Then  she  made  up  her  mind  and  slipped  between  the  sheets. 
"Aren't  you  ready  ?"  she  called.  "What  an  age  you  are !" 

Chris  started.  "Yes,  I'm  nearly  ready,"  he  said,  and 
deliberately  he  raised  the  fragment  of  lace  to  his  lips. 

Pamela  heard  his  movements.  She  was  trembling  ever  so 
slightly.  In  a  moment  he  would  come — some  excuse  per- 
haps, even  now,  like  a  man — but  then  .  .  .  She  closed  her 
eyes. 

Then  she  heard  the  sound  of  his  sheets,  and  unmistakably 
that  he  was  getting  into  his  own  bunk,  there,  behind  the 
partition,  but  a  partition  with  an  open  door  not  two  paces 
from  her. 

The  train  rolled  on  through  the  night. 

"Good-night,  Pam,"  he  called. 

A  flash  of  anger  swept  through  her,  but  she  controlled  her 
voice.  Her  brain  worked  swiftly.  "You're  never  in  bed !" 
she  called  back.  "Oh,  Chris,  I  want  a  cigarette  and  I  thought 
you  would  light  it  for  me,  and  you  must  turn  out  my  light. 
I  can't  get  up  now.  I  thought  you  would." 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  replied.    "I'll  come." 

Quickly  she  pushed  the  bed-clothes  a  little  farther  off  her 
and  pulled  a  shade  looser  the  ribbon  at  her  breast.  Bare- 
foot, in  his  pyjamas,  he  came  through  the  open  door,  smil- 
ing. Her  heart  leapt.  Surely,  at  last  .  .  . 

He  bent  over  the  bed.  His  eyes  took  in  the  slightly  flushed 
face,  her  bare  arms  and  neck,  the  flesh  but  half  concealed 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  333 

beneath  the  soft  open  cambric.  "You  lazy  old  thing,"  he 
said,  and  held  out  a  cigarette. 

She  sat  up,  rosy,  but  deliberate.  But  she  did  not  want  a 
cigarette.  Was  he  blind? 

He  produced  a  box  of  matches  and  struck  one.  The  tiny 
flame  burned  between  them  and  he  held  out  his  hand.  She 
put  the  little  tube  of  tobacco  between  her  lips  and  leaned 
forward.  His  hand  rested  on  her  throat ;  she  could  see,  and 
so  must  he,  where  now  the  laces  fell  forward  from  her 
breasts.  She  drew  in  the  smoke. 

"There !"  he  exclaimed,  blowing  out  the  match,  and  kissed 
her  gently  on  the  forehead.  "Good-night,  my  dear.  Shall 
I  switch  off  the  light  now  for  you?  Sleep  sound!" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  and  wondered  that  she  could  say  it 
calmly.  "Good-night,  Chris." 

The  switch  clicked,  and  he  climbed  back  into  his  own  bed. 
In  a  moment  his  coupe  too  was  dark,  and  in  the  dark,  so 
near  and  yet  so  separate,  these  two  fought  a  last  round. 

She  stared  into  the  blackness  above  her.  She  would  not 
speak.  But  she  willed  him  back,  desperately,  and  now  and 
again  she  heard  him  move  and  knew  that  he  did  not  sleep. 
Why?  why?  why? — she  queried  again  and  again.  Surely, 
on  the  cab  outside,  victory  had  lain  with  her.  Surely  that 
little  futile  conversation,  and  that  note  in  his  voice  the 
while,  had  meant  that  victory  lay  with  her.  And  now? 

Once  she  actually  sat  up  to  go  to  him.  But  her  pride 
rebelled  at  that.  After  all  that  had  been  said  and  done,  this 
she  could  not  do.  She  would  wait  half  an  hour  at  least,  and 
she  began  to  count  the  minutes.  That  was  fatal.  She  was 
worn  out  with  excitement  though  she  hardly  realised  it;  the 
train  rocked  her  to  a  rough  lullaby ;  she  slept. 

Chris  did  not.  He  lay  and  fought  the  beasts  at  Ephesus. 
He  had  never  so  fought  before.  Even  the  image  of  Cecil, 
conjured  up  in  his  mind,  was  scarcely  strong  enough,  and 
lest  he  should  prove  too  weak,  he  rose  silently  at  last  and 
dressed.  Out  in  the  night  air,  he  grew  more  cool.  He 


334  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

reviewed  the  days  and  night  past,  saw  again  their  camp-fires, 
questioned  more  surely  his  own  heart.  And  when  the  lights 
of  Ladysmith  shone  out  in  the  night,  he  knew  that  he  would 
go  to  Cecil  unashamed. 

The  Johannesburg  train  was  in.  He  gathered  his  things 
quietly  and  looked  round  the  open  door  at  Pamela.  In  the 
faint  morning  light  he  could  just  see  her,  and  that  she  still 
slept.  He  did  not  dare  enter,  and  he  softly  closed  the  door. 

They  bring  round  tea  at  6  a.  m.,  and  Pamela  started  awake 
with  the  voice  of  an  Indian  waiter  at  the  window  in  her 
ears.  Ladysmith  ?  The  Johannesburg  train  must  have  gone 
then !  "Chris !"  she  called,  hopelessly.  Then  she  put  the 
cup  on  the  little  table  by  her  side,  and  rolled  over  in  her 
bed,  her  face  to  the  wall. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IT  was  hot  among  the  plantations  below  the  farm  at 
Springfontein,  but  Gwen  thought  as  she  walked  that  it 
was  all  very  lovely.  Above,  glimpsed  through  the  screen 
of  boughs  and  leaves,  the  sky  stretched  out  infinitely  in  one 
deep  unflecked  transparent  blue,  so  that,  as  you  looked  up, 
you  seemed  to  be  staring  into  the  great  untroubled  depths 
of  some  unsailed  ocean.  The  green  woods  about  seemed  to 
crouch  at  rest  as  if  their  separate  growths  had  merged  into 
one  living  breathing  sentient  creature.  A  faint  perfumed 
sweetness  of  gums  and  mosses  rose  all  about  her,  and  she 
moved  idly  and  dreamily  through  it,  her  mind  content  to 
rest.  A  maple  ring-dove  flew  suddenly  into  an  immense 
weeping-willow  before  her  with  a  great  stir  of  wings,  settling 
beside  its  drowsy  mate  and  bursting  out  into  its  triumphant 
cry.  The  hen,  plainly  visible  to  Gwen,  just  turned  her  head 
and  looked  at  him,  and  the  other  broke  off  with,  as  it  were, 
a  sudden  self-conscious  bashfulness.  Gwen  smiled  to  her- 
self. It  was  exactly  as  if  the  bird  had  said  sleepily  to  her 
mate :  "Oh  do  be  quiet.  This  isn't  Spring,  and  can't  you  see 
that  everybody  is  trying  to  rest?" 

The  next  minute  she  espied  Hugh.  He  was  lying  on  the 
ground,  face  downwards,  beneath  that  very  willow,  half 
curtained  by  its  long  green  sweeping  tendrils  and  twigs,  and 
he  was  as  still  as  everything  about  him.  His  face  was  hid- 
den in  his  left  arm,  and  his  right  was  stretched  out  in  front 
of  him.  She  wondered  if  he  was  asleep,  as  Cecil  was  in  her 
hammock  on  the  stoep,  and  she  thought  with  a  little  amuse- 
ment that  if  she  went  and  lay  down  beside  him  silently  and 
slept  too,  then  he  would  find  her  so  on  awakening.  But  she 
dismissed  the  idea;  she  was  not  quite  sure  of  Hugh  these 

335 


336  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

days;  he  was  so  silent.  So  she  took  a  few  careful  steps 
intending  to  pass  him  by,  and  would  have  done  if  she  had  not 
caught  a  low  sound  and  noticed  a  tremor  run  through  his 
body  as  he  lay. 

She  stood  stock  still.  The  male  ring-dove,  regarding  her 
inquisitively,  decided  that  there  was  no  more  energy  in  this 
human  this  hot  afternoon  than  in  his  mate,  and  he  sidled  a 
step  nearer  that  fat  bundle  of  grey  feathers,  preened  his 
tail  for  a  few  seconds,  gaped  deliberately,  and  settled  him- 
self by  her  again.  There  was  not  another  sound.  "Hugh," 
whispered  Gwen  at  last. 

The  man  started  and  looked  quickly  up.  "You  here," 
he  said  inconsequently.  Gwen  walked  softly  across  to  him. 
"I  thought  you  were  asleep,"  she  said. 

"No,"  he  replied,  half  sitting  up. 

"Don't  move,"  she  said,  sitting  down  beside  him,  choosing 
meticulously  a  soft  spot  and  brushing  aside  a  couple  of 
sticks.  The  lady  ring-dove,  whose  feathers  had  drawn  tightly 
about  her  head  as  the  girl  moved,  giving  her  a  startled  ex- 
pression, decided  it  was  all  right  and  fluffed  them  out  again. 
Her  mate  blinked  one  eye,  and  closed  it  contemptuously. 

"Isn't  it  hot,"  said  Hugh,  dropping  his  head  once  more, 
but  this  time  sideways  so  that  he  could  see  her. 

"Delicious,"  she  said.  And  again,  "Don't  move."  She 
leaned  back  against  a  tree,  and  stared  down  the  glade  ahead 
of  her.  In  the  distance  she  could  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
white  road  up  to  the  farm.  That  thread  of  dusty  white 
fascinated  her.  Up  it  Hugh  and  Cecil  had  driven  once, 
she  imagined,  when  he  brought  her  as  his  bride  to  the  farm  ; 
up  it  Christopher  Ashurst  had  come  riding  into  their  lives ; 
up  it,  not  so  many  weeks  ago,  they  had  brought  little  Ronnie 
home  for  the  last  time.  She  wondered  what  next  would  turn 
its  dust,  coming  to  the  farm.  Or  who  down  it,  going 
whither?  And  at  that  she  reached  out  restlessly  for  a  little 
stick,  and  broke  it  nervously  into  pieces  in  her  brown  hands. 

Hugh  watched  her.  "That's  how  my  life  has  broken,"  he 
said  harshly. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  337 

Gwen  started.  Then  she  almost  smiled.  It  was  so  unlike 
Hugh  to  make  parables  of  little  things  and  moralise  over 
them.  But  even  as  it  struck  her  how  unlike  it  was,  she  could 
as  suddenly  have  wept.  Indeed  the  hot  tears  burnt  already 
in  her  eyes.  "Don't,  don't,  Hugh  dear,"  she  cried. 

The  sweet  hot  silence  fell  on  her  words  and  buried  them, 
as  it  were,  before  either  of  them  spoke  again.  Then :  "And 
I've  been  a  beast  to  you,"  said  Hugh. 

His  words  were  again  so  unexpected  by  her  that  not  only 
did  they  take  her  utterly  by  surprise,  but  they  stabbed  her 
too.  She  paled  suddenly  under  her  tan  and  bit  her  lip.  Then 
she  turned  her  head  fearlessly  and  looked  at  him.  "Oh  no, 
Hugh,"  she  said,  "fortune  of  war,  that's  all." 

Their  eyes  met.  She  did  not  flinch  even  then,  and  the 
man  reached  out  his  hand  and  laid  it  upon  hers  as  it  sup- 
ported her,  palm  downwards  on  the  ground.  "You  brave 
little  girl,"  he  said  quietly. 

Gwen  twisted  her  fingers  over  and  for  a  moment  or  two 
they  locked  tightly  in  his.  Then  she  withdrew  them.  Not 
another  word  on  that  subject,  then  or  later,  did  either  ever 
say.  It  was  like  them  both. 

When  the  silence  was  broken  again,  it  was  Gwen  who 
spoke,  and  she  took  up  his  first  sentence  as  if  the  second 
had  not  been  added.  "Don't  say  that,  Hugh,"  she  said. 
"Life  is  not  broken  as  one  breaks  a  stick  you  know.  It 
means  a  new  beginning,  that  is  all." 

The  man  sat  up.  "Perhaps,"  he  said  quietly,  "but  when 
one  is  married  it  means  that  two  have  to  make  that  be- 
ginning." 

"Well,"  said  Gwen  lightly,  "begin  again  with  Cecil." 

"Can  I?"  queried  Hugh. 

Gwen's  heart  leapt  momentarily  and  then  seemed  to  stop 
still.  The  very  quiet  of  his  question  startled  her  so  much. 
It  suggested  that  he  had  quite  definitely  decided  on  the 
answer.  And  her  mind  began  to  race  down  the  track  of 
time,  through  the  incidents  of  their  trek,  back  to  the  com- 
ing of  Ashurst.  She  lingered  on  that.  Then,  slowly,  she 


338  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

began  to  recall  it  all  again,  dwelling  on  this  and  that,  piec- 
ing a  story  together  that  she  had  not  seen  as  a  whole  until 
now.  The  moments  of  silence  lengthened.  She  wished, 
fiercely,  that  she  had  answered  at  once;  now,  what  could 
she  say?  She  realised  at  last  that  truthfully  she  could  not 
answer  at  all.  And  yet  she  had  not  consciously,  even  in 
her  own  mind,  settled  upon  anything.  But  she  knew  she 
dared  not  attempt  a  settlement. 

From  far  away  came  the  sound  of  horse-hoofs.  Faint  in 
the  distance,  it  was  Hugh  who  first  heard  and  turned  his 
head  to  listen.  Gwen  caught  the  look  on  his  face  and  lis- 
tened too.  The  sound  grew  near  unmistakably.  "Some  one 
coming,"  said  Hugh  unnecessarily. 

"Let's  go  and  see  who  it  is,"  said  Gwen,  glad  of  the  excuse 
to  move. 

They  got  up  together  and  moved  down  the  woody  path 
towards  the  road.  As  they  emerged,  they  saw  how  the  heat 
danced  upon  it,  and  they  hesitated,  in  the  fragrant  shade,  to 
step  out  into  the  sun.  Fifty  yards  or  so  lower  down,  there 
was  a  corner,  and  they  stood  to  watch  for  the  rider  to 
round  it.  The  horse  was  cantering  easily  and  they  had  some 
seconds  to  wait.  Gwen  caught  herself  wondering  again  at 
that  fateful  road,  and  stared  eagerly  out  into  the  sun.  Then 
round  the  corner  came  Pamela  Urfurd. 

Gwen  shot  a  quick  glance  at  Hugh.  He  was  frowning 
ever  so  slightly.  "Pamela !"  he  muttered.  The  girl  slipped 
a  hand  into  his  arm. 

Pamela  had  seen  them  now,  and  waved.  Hugh  lifted  his 
hat  as  she  rode  up  and  reined  in  her  horse,  "Hullo!"  she 
cried,  "you  two !" 

"Good  afternoon,  Miss  Urfurd,"  said  Hugh  courteously. 
"Where  in  the  world  have  you  sprung  from?" 

She  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  and  smiled  down  on 
them.  "That's  a  long  story,"  she  said,  "but  the  bits  that 
matter  most  just  now  are  that  I  found  father  busy  at  Dur- 
ban arranging  for  the  publication  of  his  book,  and  as  I  felt 
I  hated  Durban  I  thought  I'd  go  home.  But  on  the  very  sta- 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  339 

tion  I  began  to  feel  that  I  hated  home  too  and  couldn't  go 
off  there  alone  without  seeing  you  and  Cecily,  so  I  came 
on  here  instead.  I  thought  you'd  put  me  up  for  a  night  or 
two.  I've  got  a  little  luggage  coming  on  a  wagon  that  was 
leaving  Kokstad  for  you,  Mr.  Sinclair,  but  I  said  I'd  ride 
and  I  got  this  beastie  at  the  hotel.  Where's  Cecil?  How 
is  she?" 

"Rather  limp,"  said  Hugh,  "but  you'll  find  her  up  at  the 
house.  Do  ride  on.  We'll  follow.  I'm  sure  you  want 
tea." 

"I  do,"  confessed  Pamela.  "All  right.  I'll  ride  on  and 
take  her  by  surprise.  Up,  beauty." 

She  shook  her  rein  and  was  off  again,  riding  easily  as  she 
had  come.  Little  spurts  of  dust  rose  from  her  horse's  hoofs 
and  she  did  not  look  back.  The  two  stood  and  watched  her 
go.  "I  wonder  why  she's  come,"  said  Hugh,  hardly  aware 
that  he  spoke  aloud. 

And  for  the  second  time  that  afternoon  Gwen  felt  he  had 
asked  a  question  she  could  not  answer. 

Pamela  drew  up  at  the  farm  and  hesitated.  No  one  was 
visible,  and  in  the  heat  the  place  seemed  asleep.  She  leant 
out  of  the  saddle,  and  lifted  the  latch  of  the  garden  gate 
with  her  riding  whip.  Inside,  she  turned  her  horse  adroitly, 
and  closed  as  she  had  opened  it.  Then  she  walked  him 
round  to  the  front  stoep.  Cecil  at  last  heard  the  horse- 
hoofs  and  started  up  in  her  hammock.  "Pam !"  she  cried. 

Her  friend  jumped  lightly  to  the  ground,  drew  her  bridle 
over  her  horse's  head,  and  slipped  it  over  the  gate-post  of 
the  entrance  to  the  stoep.  Pulling  off  her  gloves,  she 
walked  swiftly  to  the  hammock.  "At  your  service,  Cecily," 
she  said  banteringly. 

Cecil  flung  herself  into  her  arms. 

Cecil  disengaged  herself.  "Where's  Hugh?"  she  de- 
jnanded.  "Did  you  see  him?" 

"Following,  with  Gwen,"  said  Pamela. 

"Where's   Chris?"   she  whispered. 

Pamela  shrugged  her  shoulders.    "Lor',  Cecily,"  she  said 


340  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

lightly,  "you  are  a  great  girl,  my  dear,  I  must  say.  I  arrive, 
and  you  haven't  a  word  for  me.  'Where's  Hugh?'  say  you, 
as  if  I  owned  him,  and  then  'Where's  Chris?'  as  if  I  owned 
him  either.  As  I've  neither  in  my  pocket,  perhaps  I'd  better 
go,  more  especially  as  I  see  my  pony  is  eating  jasmine,  which 
is  neither  good  for  him  nor  the  jasmine,  I  suppose,  and  you 
don't  seem  inclined  to  call  a  boy  or  otherwise  prepare 
for  me." 

"Oh  Pam,  I  am  sorry.  But  it  was  all  so  unexpected,  and 
you  know  what  I  mean.  There's  Letsei  coming.  Letsei, 
take  the  missus'  horse  and  tell  Blandina  to  bring  in  tea  at 
once.  And  now,  my  dear,  I'm  simply  dying  to  hear  your 
news." 

Pamela  smiled.  "You  are  a  damned  little  liar,  Cecily," 
she  said.  "You  don't  in  the  least  want  to  hear  about  me." 

Cecil  flushed  suddenly.    "Don't,  Pam !"  she  cried. 

Pamela  realised  suddenly  the  pathos  of  that  little  cry,  and 
the  pathos  also  of  that  slight  figure  with  unwonted  touches 
of  black  in  the  blouse,  and  the  sombre  skirt.  She  passed 
her  hand  through  the  other's  arm  and  drew  her  into  the 
drawing-room.  "Well,  well,  Cecily,"  she  said,  "I'll  tell  you 
all  about  him.  But  it's  a  long  yarn.  Can  you  put  me  up  for 
a  night  or  two?  I  simply  had  to  see  you,  and  as  I  found 
father  busy,  I  thought  I'd  come  right  on  without  waiting.  I 
got  to  Durban  last  night,  about  the  same  time  as  Chris  got 
to  Jo'burg,  I  suppose.  He  slipped  off  in  the  night  at  Lady- 
smith  without  saying  good-bye.  Or  at  least  he  said  good-bye 
the  night  before." 

"Is  he  coming  here?"  asked  Cecil  breathlessly. 

Pamela  threw  herself  into  an  armchair.  "Chris  does  un- 
expected things,  but  I  hardly  think  so — yet,"  she  said. 

Cecil  was  still  standing  staring  at  her.  Now  she  dropped 
on  to  a  cushion  at  her  friend's  feet  and  laid  a  hand  caress- 
ingly on  her  knee.  "Pam,"  she  said,  "you're  playing  with  me. 
I  can  tell.  What's  the  truth?" 

Pamela  did  not  reply  all  at  once.  She  was  studying  the 
childish  face,  the  rich  black  hair,  the  eager  brown  eyes  of 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  341 

the  younger  girl.  Her  own  narrowed  as  she  looked.  Then 
she  laughed  lightly.  "I'll  not  speak  in  parables,  Cecily,"  she 
said.  "You  shall  know  all  there  is  to  know.  But  there's 
not  time  now.  To-morrow  you  shall  hear  the  whole  story, 
you,  with  your  life  in  your  little  hands.  And  to  think  that 
I  always  thought  them  weak,  Cecily!" 

"But— but "  whispered  Cecil. 

"He  loves  you  with  all  his  heart,  if  you  mean  that,"  said 
Pamela. 

They  heard  Hugh  on  the  stoep  and  Pamela's  tone  changed. 
"Cecil,"  she  declared,  "I've  never  wanted  anything  in  my 
life  as  I  want  that  tea." 

("You  are  a  damned  little  liar,"  whispered  her  heart.) 

Pamela  had  not  realised  how  hard  that  evening  was  likely 
to  be.  For  one  thing,  their  reunion  inevitably  recalled  the 
last  night  they  had  spent  together.  Then  Gwen  hardly 
looked  at  her,  and  when  she  did,  Pamela  thought  it  was 
with  almost  definite  hostility  4  The  girl  was  distraite  too, 
and  indeed  she  might  well  be,  for  her  mind  was  still  re- 
reading the  past  in  the  light  of  Hugh's  words.  He  himself 
was  inscrutable.  Possibly  only  a  close  observer  would  have 
noticed  anything,  but  Pamela  was  such  an  observer  and  she 
noticed  that  he  held  himself  in  hand,  as  it  were,  the  whole 
time.  He  did  not  sleep  after  dinner  now.  He  was  just  as 
tender  to  his  wife,  but  with  a  curious  dignity  which  had  never 
been  his  before.  Pamela  could  not  make  him  out.  She  could 
not  decide  if  he  suspected  Chris  or  had  merely  become  aware 
of  a  barrier  between  himself  and  Cecil. 

As  for  Cecil  herself,  she,  poor  girl,  hung  on  her  guest's 
words,  asking  little  probing  questions,  continually  referring 
back  to  that  trek  if  ever  the  conversation  drifted  away  from 
it.  And  Pamela  must  needs  tell  of  her  ride — there  was  no 
escape  from  that — but  possibly  only  Cecil,  who  wanted  so 
much,  realised  how  little  it  was  she  told.  She  discussed  the 
Bushman  paintings,  native  life,  the  Basutoland  Government 
Service,  Mokhotlong,  Mont  aux  Sources,  gaily,  freely,  char- 
acteristically. But  as  she  brushed  her  hair  before  her  mir- 


342  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

ror,  when  bed-time  had  at  last  come,  there  was  a  hard  smile 
about  her  mouth.  She  realised  she  had  told  in  detail  but  one 
night's  camp,  that  with  Mallory  in  the  Eagle's  Nest. 

It  was  on  the  bare  hill-side  above  the  farm  that  the  two 
friends  continued  their  interrupted  talk.  Gwen  had  gone 
off  with  Hugh  in  the  car,  and  they  had  climbed  through 
the  young  plantations  and  reached  a  place  of  great  boulders 
near  the  crest  of  the  hill,  high  up  in  the  pure  still  air.  No 
sound  reached  them  there  but  the  distant  bleat  of  a  sheep 
in  the  pastures  below  when,  now  and  again,  a  little  wind 
blew  up  in  their  direction.  The  wide  landscape  slept  in  the 
sun.  Over  a  fast  browning  'land'  a  couple  of  ploughs  moved 
slowly  backwards  and  forwards,  and  on  the  distant  Berg, 
the  little  clouds  were  drifting  together  like  an  aimless  flock 
of  sheep.  The  farm  lay  silent  and  motionless  at  their  feet. 
They  were  too  far  to  hear  even  a  dog  bark  in  the  yard  or  a 
dove  coo  in  the  woods. 

Cecil  sat  on  a  great  tuft  of  scented  grasses;  Pamela  had 
fixed  herself  on  a  slab  of  rock  which  offered  a  convenient 
rest  for  her  feet  and  allowed  her  to  lean  her  head  back  in 
her  hands  against  its  smooth  surface.  She  told  her  story 
with  the  clearness,  truth  and  calm  of  an  admirable  witness 
in  a  court  of  law.  She  scarcely  omitted  an  incident — none 
that  mattered  anyway;  and  she  did  not  hide  any  detail  out 
of  regard  for  her  hearer.  But  in  one  particular  she  was 
obdurate.  She  ascribed  no  motives  to  herself  or  to  Chris. 
She  might  have  been  given  the  customary  legal  warning  and 
to  have  resolved  to  bear  it  always  in  mind.  They  had,  for 
example,  she  said,  dined  together  that  second  night  of  the 
rains  in  the  cave;  they  had  played  picquet;  she  had  told  his 
fortune,  tricking  him  with  an  incident  of  his  voyage  she  had 
by  chance  learned  from  Gwen;  later,  it  had  been  curiously 
easy  for  her  all  but  to  hypnotise  him,  on  an  impulse  of  the 
moment ;  it  had  nearly  succeeded,  so  nearly  that  he  had  seen 
her,  Cecil,  in  a  kind  of  trance,  and  had  kissed  her,  Pamela, 
by  mistake;  he  had  been  awakened  and  they  had  gone  to 
bed;  he  had  brought  her  whisky  and  she  had  come  out, 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  343 

en  deshabille,  to  drink  it ;  so  they  had  slept.  Thus  and  thus 
the  story  went  on:  Mokhotlong,  the  Mission,  the  shooting, 
Butha-Buthe,  the  railway  train ;  only  she  did  not  say  why  she 
had  done  this  or  that,  nor  did  she  give  her  hearer  details  of 
conversations  which  would  have  made  that  clear.  Thus  she 
allowed  Cecil  to  watch  the  play,  as  if,  with  a  powerful  tele- 
scope, she  were  even  now  gazing  at  some  incident  being 
enacted  on  the  great  Range  on  the  horizon.  Nor,  even,  did 
the  tones  of  the  reciter  help  her  listener  much,  so  level  and 
emotionless  were  they.  Pamela's  sentences  were  however 
curt  and  witty  as  they  always  were.  And  her  method  was 
deliberate.  It  was  for  her  to  tell  the  story,  but  for  Cecil's 
own  heart  to  interpret  it,  if  she  could. 

Truth  to  tell,  Pamela  said  less  than  she  might  have  done 
as  a  result  of  her  listener's  manner.  Cecil  had,  in  the  be- 
ginning, glanced  now  and  again  restlessly  at  her,  and  had 
interrupted  with  a  question  or  two ;  but  in  a  very  little  while 
she  had  abandoned  both  the  tricks  that  had  been  so  common 
to  her  in  the  old  days.  She  had  sat,  for  the  most  part,  quite 
still,  staring  out  at  the  Malutis.  And  when  Pamela  had  fin- 
ished, she  sat  on  as  still. 

At  long  last  she  heaved  a  little  sigh.  "So  that's  that,  Pam, 
is  it?"  she  said. 

"That  is  that,  Cecily,"  said  Pamela  nonchalantly. 

"Dear  old  Pam,"  said  Cecil  softly,  and  not  till  then  did 
Pamela  know  that  she  understood. 

It  was  characteristic  that  she  did  not  attempt  to  evade, 
still  less  to  deny.  She  even  chuckled.  "There's  no  need  for 
sentiment,  Cecil,"  she  said.  "The  biter  got  bit,  that's  all,  as 
I  see  you've  guessed.  The  wound  heals  or  the  beast  dies. 
It's  quite  simple." 

"Pam,  don't!"  cried  Cecil,  and  turned  now  impulsively 
towards  her.  "Oh  Pam,  what  shall  you  do?" 

The  elder  girl  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "Chris  asked  that, 
and  I  told  him,"  she  said.  "Much  the  bigger  question, 
Cecily  my  dear,  is  what  will  you  do  ?" 

"Ah,"  said  Cecil,  and  stared  out  again  at  the  Malutis. 


344  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Perhaps  Pamela's  story  had  taken  more  in  the  telling  than 
she  was  disposed  to  own.  At  any  rate  she  allowed  a  trace 
of  impatience  to  come  into  her  voice.  "Well,  my  dear," 
she  said,  "you  must  decide.  After  all,  you  made  him  a 
promise  on  the  Berg  yonder,  and  he's  gone  through  a  pretty 
fair  test  since  then.  Chris  will  be  here  red-hot  after  you 
the  moment  that  he  thinks  he  can.  I  said  I  would  get  you  to 
write,  but  that  was  before  our  slightly  dramatic  finale,  and 
I've  made  good  by  coming  instead.  But  write  something 
you  must.  If  you  don't  he  will  come  without  it.  ...  Thus 
you  will  write,  but  what  will  you  write?" 

Cecil  shook  her  head  rather  piteously.  "I  don't  know,  oh 
I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "At  least  I  shall  write  and  say 
he  cannot  come  yet,  whatever  happens." 

"And  what  will  happen,  Cecily?"  pressed  Pamela  re- 
morselessly. "You  must  act  at  last ;  what  then  will  you  do  ?" 

Cecil  disengaged  a  little  stone  and  tossed  it  away  from  her. 
Then  another  and  another.  Pamela  swore  under  her  breath. 
At  that  Cecil  flushed  a  little.  "What  would  you  do?"  she 
questioned. 

The  simple  words  unlocked  a  flood  gate.  Pamela  threw 
herself  off  her  rock  and  stood  before  her  companion,  her 
eyes  blazing.  "Do?"  she  cried,  "what  would  I  do?  Why, 
go  to  him  and  not  wait  for  him  to  come  to  me,  yes,  and  go 
at  once !  There  is  a  man  who  loves  you,  and  a  man  who  is 
worth  loving.  Do  you  think  I  would  hesitate  a  single  sec- 
ond? Why  now,  even  now,  if  he  lifted  a  little  finger,  I'd  go 
to  him,  yes,  /.  I'd  trail  across  the  world  after  him,  his  mis- 
tress, his — his  thing.  I  would  give  him  children  and  chil- 
dren would  link  our  love.  I  would  share  his  exile,  ease  his 
pain,  bear  his  burden,  and — and  kill  myself  when  he  had 
done  with  me!" 

But  Cecil  did  not  move.  She  even  smiled  a  little  at  the 
other's  outburst.  "Oh  Pam,"  she  said  gently,  "how  are  the 
mighty  fallen!  The  first  day  I  met  you,  did  you  not  jeer 
at  this  very  thing?  Was  this  not  what  poor  Eve  did,  and 
what  the  black  Eves  do  now  ?  Did  you  not  wonder  why,  in 


345 

those  days,  Pam?  You  called  yourself  by  a  different  name 
then,  dear,  if  I  remember  rightly." 

Pamela  stared  at  her.  Then,  unlike  herself,  she  dropped 
at  her  friend's  feet.  "You're  very  right,  little  Cecily,"  she 
said  and  leant  her  face  on  the  girl's  knee.  "But  Cecily,  I 
was  a  fool,  oh  yes,  a  good  big  fool.  I've  learned  a  thing  or 
two,  my  dear.  Possibly,  for  all  that,  I  was  partly  right; 
possibly  love  is  a  trick  of  old  nature,  and  its  ways  pretty 
rough ;  and  possibly  Lilith  is  spared  some  pain  and  a  deal  of 
drudgery.  But — and  it's  a  big  but.  Listen.  There  is  noth- 
ing in  the  world  to  set  beside  love.  I  advised  you  once  as 
you  remind  me,  and  I  remember  I  advised  you  again  later 
on.  Now,  having  learned  a  lesson  in  the  interval,  I  advise 
you  again.  You  love  Chris,  Cecil,  and  I  know  he  loves  you. 
It  is  rather  wonderful  to  me  how  much  he  loves  you,  Cecily. 
He  is  no  Hugh,  and  this  love  of  yours  for  him  is  not  as  your 
love  for  Hugh  either.  Go  to  him,  Cecil,  go  to  him,  little 
girl.  Never  mind  what  comes,  go  to  him.  Don't  throw 
away  your  chance.  The  gods  offer  you  both  a  deep  drink; 
drain  the  glass.  Or  else  you  may  be  sorry  all  your  days." 

Cecil  stretched  her  hand  out  and  touched  the  other's  hair 
caressingly.  She  let  her  fingers  linger  upon  it,  and  even  as 
she  did  so,  she  smiled  that  she  should  so  be  treating  Pamela. 
"But  why,  Pamela?"  she  queried.  "I  mean  why  have  you 
changed  ?  What  has  made  you  understand  love  so  that  you 
should  come  teaching  me?  What  has  made  you  love,  Pam 
dear?" 

But  Pamela  did  not  answer  for  awhile.  Cecil  did  not  press 
her  question.  So  still  they  sat  and  so  intent,  that  a  rock 
rabbit  emerged  from  his  hole  and  began  to  nibble  grass  roots 
with  great  content.  They  both  stared  at  him  gravely  until 
Pamela  said  suddenly  "Cheek !"  and  sat  up.  He  bolted. 

She  fished  in  her  pocket  for  her  cigarette  case.  Then  she 
selected  and  lit  her  cigarette  with  every  bit  of  her  old  ac- 
customed ritual,  and  Cecil  caught  herself  wondering  how 
often  she  had  watched  her  do  it.  And  then  at  length  she 
spoke. 


346  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

"At  long  last,  Cecil,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  I  can- 
not answer  you.  Why  we  women  love,  God  knows.  We 
may  guess  why  He  wants  us  to  love,  but  why  we  do  it,  seeing 

all  we  know "  and  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  again. 

"But  I  can  see  what  immediately  has  made  me,  if  you  wish 
to  hear.  His  rescue  of  me  first,  I  fancy.  I  felt  he  was  a 
man ;  I  had  never  felt  that  about  any  man  before.  And  then 
those  old  old  mountains,  and  the  silences,  and  the  nights. 
And  then  the  Mission,  and  those  little  black  brats  about  the 
Mother  and  the  Child.  When  Father  Wilfrid  talked  of 
motherhood,  something  gave  way  finally  in  me.  Not  that  I 
want  it  frightfully,  but  I  know  that  I  want  passionately  all 
that  leads  up  to  it,  and  I  can  see  it  at  the  end,  a  veiled  mys- 
tery, waiting  me.  I  see  it,  and  I  no  longer  fear  to  see.  I 
am  willing  to  tread  my  path  even  if,  at  the  end,  I  must  lift 
that  veil.  And  those  are  the  things  that  have  taught  me,  little 
Cecily." 

Tears  stood  in  Cecil's  eyes.  "I  wish  I  could  even  see 
things  as  beautifully  as  you  do,  Pam,  let  alone  say  them," 
she  said  softly. 

"Nonsense,"  said  Pamela. 

"It's  not  nonsense,  but  though  I  can't  see  things  so  beau- 
tifully, your  story  has  carried  me  with  you  step  by  step,  and 
I  can  even  see  a  wee  bit  farther  than  you  can,  Pam." 

"Eh?"  queried  the  other,  just  a  little  mystified. 

"Yes,  farther.  'Why  we  women  love,  God  knows,'  you 
said.  Yes,  but  others  know  too.  I'll  tell  you  something 
else,  Pam;  how  we  women  love,  those  others  know  that 
also.  And  only  those  others,  I  suppose,"  she  added  dreamily. 

Pamela  pushed  against  her  slightly.  "You're  fey,  Cecily," 
she  said  laughingly.  "But  tell  me  how  and  why." 

"I  can't,"  said  Cecil. 

"Can't?    Why  not." 

"No  one  can  tell  you.    You'll  have  to  wait." 

"Wait!     What  for?" 

"Till  you've  come  to  the  end  of  the  path  and  lifted  the 
veil,  I  think,  Pamela,"  said  Cecil. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  347 

Pamela  stared  at  her.  Then  she  moved  her  head  and 
turned  towards  the  golden  panorama  at  their  feet.  "So,"  she 
said  at  length.  "What  will  you  do  then?  We've  wan- 
dered round  the  bush,  but  it  comes  back  to  that." 

Cecil  sighed.  "What  shall  I  do?  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she 
said  wearily.  "Write  and  put  him  off  for  a  while  anyway, 
as  I  said.  And  think  over  all  this,  Pam,"  she  added.  "I've 
been  thinking,  thinking,  thinking,  all  these  weeks,  but  now 
you've  sent  me  to  school  again  you  see." 

"Finish  the  course  quickly  then,"  said  Pamela  sarcasti- 
cally. "It  only  took  me  a  fortnight" 

"Ah,  but  there's  an  extra  lesson  in  mine,"  retorted  Cecil, 
quickly.  Pamela  drew  on  her  cigarette  and  said  nothing. 

It  was  agreed  that  Pamela  should  stay  over  the  week-end, 
and  on  the  Sunday  afternoon,  at  tea,  Cecil,  who  had  been 
very  quiet,  looked  up  from  her  tea-tray  and  said:  "Hugh, 
will  you  come  to  church  to-night?  I  rather  want  to  go." 

Hugh's  hand,  holding  his  cup,  shook  a  little.  He  put  it 
carefully  down.  Neither  of  them  had  been  to  church  since 
Ronnie's  funeral.  "Just  as  you  like,  my  darling,"  he  said. 

"Will  you  come,  Pam  ?"  asked  Cecil. 

Pamela  glanced  across  at  Gwen.  "What  about  you  ?"  she 
said. 

"Oh  I'll  go,  I  think,"  said  Gwen. 

"Well  in  that  case  I'll  make  up  the  party,"  said  Pamela. 
"We  shall  greatly  augment  the  congregation.  Mr.  Gressly 
will  have  the  chance  of  his  life,  but  really  we  ought  to  have 
given  him  warning." 

Cecil  smiled.    "He  won't  take  it  then,  you'll  see." 

"It  will  interest  his  wife  anyway,"  retorted  Pamela. 

So  the  car  was  ordered  out  and  they  drove  in  together. 
Dusk  was  falling  on  the  little  township  as  they  entered,  and 
through  the  golden  air,  the  sound  of  the  church  bells  was 
very  homely.  They  garaged  the  car  at  the  hotel,  and  walked 
up  the  street  under  the  trees  the  few  hundred  yards  to  the 
little  church.  It  really  looks  like  a  church,  for  it  has  a 
tower  and  some  architectural  pretensions.  A  motley  crowd 


348  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL" LIVING 

drifted  by  them  in  twos  and  threes — Boers  on  their  way  to 
the  Dutch  Reformed  Kirk,  Griquas  making  for  the  Mission, 
Kaffirs  in  Sunday  best,  a  car  full  of  a  gay  tennis  party  re- 
turning home.  Cecil  walked  by  her  husband,  a  thin  black 
veil  over  her  face,  and  grew  yet  more  silent.  She  began  to 
wish  she  had  not  suggested  their  coming.  Within,  a  sparse 
congregation  gathered  under  the  oil  lamps,  and  Mr.  Gressly, 
in  his  surplice  and  Oxford  hood,  cast  his  usual  and  trained 
glance  around  before  he  began  the  service.  The  Springfon- 
tein  party  made  a  noticeable  little  group:  Hugh  erect  and 
impassive ;  Pamela  visibly  curious ;  Gwen  with  a  determined 
air  as  if,  since  she  was  there,  she  really  had  made  up  her 
mind  not  to  miss  a  word  or  an  Amen;  and  Cecil,  a  slight 
figure,  bunched  up,  withdrawn.  "When  the  wicked  man 
.  .  ."  intoned  Mr.  Gressly,  faultlessly. 

Cecil  hardly  heard  him.  To  her  it  seemed  that  a  little 
coffin  stood  even  yet  on  its  trestles  at  the  entrance  to  the 
sanctuary,  and  that  the  place  was  still  full  of  the  half  sym- 
pathetic, half  morbidly  curious  throng  from  which  she  had 
so  shrank  but  a  few  weeks  before.  It  was  almost  as  if 
Mr.  Gressly  was  still  saying:  "I  am  the  Resurrection  and 
the  Life  .  .  .,"  away  down  there  by  the  door,  as  the  shuf- 
fling feet  bore  in  their  burden  and  Hugh  followed  to  join 
her  in  her  pew. 

Half  way  through  the  psalms,  she  sat  down,  and  Hugh 
bent  over  her.  "Too  hot,  dear?"  he  whispered  tenderly. 
She  shook  her  head.  Oh  no,  it  was  not  that,  but  what  did 
she  care  for  those  old  psalms  ? — she  wanted  to  dream  of  her 
dead.  And  dream  she  did,  setting  wonderingly  before  her- 
self the  scenes  she  associated  with  him,  from  those  early 
nights  of  rapture  with  her  husband,  to  those  last  days  when 
the  little  fellow  had  so  often  irritated  her  though  all  the 
while  she  loved  him.  She  heard  not  a  word  of  the  lesson, 
and  it  might  have  been  some  one  else  in  her  body  who  stood 
for  the  Magnificat.  But  when  the  minister  came  out  to  the 
lectern  for  the  second  lesson,  some  phrase  or  tone  struck 
her,  and  recalled  that  dinner  at  the  farm ;  and  Chris.  Chris ! 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  349 

She  was  off  again  now.  The  impetuous,  clever,  vehement 
Chris — how  she  loved  him.  Chris  who  generalised  so  dog- 
matically on  everything — the  world,  morality,  women,  God. 
She  half  smiled  to  herself ;  love  her  as  he  did,  how  little  he 
understood  her.  But  did  she  understand  herself  ? 

Her  own  short  story  began  to  race  through  her  mind,  with 
its  school-days,  its  home-coming  (which  she  saw  always  as 
if  it  had  been  perpetual  sunshine  then  of  a  sort  that  never 

came  in  these  days),  her  marriage,  her  child,  and  now ? 

What  should  she  do?  Where  was  she  drifting?  What 
could  the  future  hold  for  her? 

And  then,  in  that  sudden  way  that  we  all  know  so  well,  a 
single  verse  of  the  lesson  leaped  out  and  arrested  her  con- 
sciousness. "She  shall  be  saved  through  child-bearing,  if 
she  continue  in  faith  and  love,"  read  Mr.  Gressly  pom- 
pously. And  not  another  word  of  service  or  sermon  did  she 
hear. 

After  supper,  they  sat  on  the  stoep,  but  with  coffee  fin- 
ished Cecil  excused  herself.  She  had  a  letter  or  two  to 
write,  she  said.  She  came  out  later,  and  seemed  much 
brighter,  much  more  her  old  self.  She  chaffed  Hugh  a  little 
and  saw  her  guests  to  bed.  On  her  way  back  to  her  own 
room,  she  passed  her  husband's  door  and  glanced  in.  He 
was  standing  at  a  small  toilet  table,  taking  off  his  collar  and 
tie  by  the  flickering  light  of  two  candles.  Through  the  open 
window  behind  it,  she  could  see  the  flood  of  moonlight  on 
the  lawn.  Across  the  room  was  a  camp  bed  whereon  he 
slept,  these  days. 

"In  a  hurry,  Hugh?'  she  said,  smiling. 

He  started  and  turned  quickly.  The  realisation  that  he 
was  surprised  stabbed  her.  "No,  my  darling,"  he  said,  gaz- 
ing at  her. 

"Not  tired?" 

"Of  course  not.  Why  do  you  ask?  Do  you  want  any- 
thing?" 

"Well,  come  in  and  say  good-night,  will  you?  I  haven't 
had  a  chance  to  talk  to  you  all  day." 


350 

"Well,  dear,"  said  Pamela,  "it's  good-bye  again  for  a  bit. 
Drop  me  a  line  and  come  and  see  us,  just  when  you  please. 
The  sooner  the  better,  Cecily." 

They  were  standing  on  the  stoep,  and  Hugh  had  gone  with 
Gwen  to  bring  round  the  car.  "Good-bye,  dear,"  said  Cecil. 
"I'm  awfully  glad  you  came.  You  come  here  too  whenever 
you  want,  won't  you?  dear  old  Pam.  I  can  never  thank  you 
enough  for  all  you've  done  for  me.  And  by  the  way,  would 
you  mind  posting  this  in  town?" 

She  handed  her  a  letter,  face  upwards,  and  Pamela  glanced 
swiftly  from  her  face  to  the  envelope.  "C.  Ashurst,  Esq.," 
she  read. 

Pamela  could  not  help  it.  "What  have  you  written, 
Cecily?"  she  whispered. 

"That  he  mustn't  come  just  yet,  but  that  I  shall  arrange 
to  be  in  Durban  in  six  months  or  so,  and  will  let  him  know 
how  I  am  then,"  said  Cecil,  serenely. 

A  score  of  persons  might  have  watched  Pamela  put  that 
letter  in  her  bag,  and  guessed  nothing  of  what  she  felt. 
"Good,"  she  said.  "If  I  can  help  at  all,  let  me  know." 

Tears  gathered  swiftly  in  Cecil's  eyes.  "You  darling," 
she  said  gently,  "you  dear  old  darling.  But  I  shall  manage 
alone,  Pam,  when  the  time  comes." 

"Why  wait  so  long?"  queried  Pamela  curiously.  "I  don't 
think  I  could,  Cecily." 

"I  shall  bide  my  time,"  replied  the  girl.  "Good-bye, 
darling." 

"Good-bye." 

They  kissed,  and  Pamela  ran  down  the  steps  into  the  gar- 
den, turning  a  moment  to  wave  her  hand  cheerfully.  Then 
she  rounded  the  corner  and  unlatched  the  garden  gate.  "The 
beast  goes  home,"  she  said  to  herself,  biting  her  lip  sav- 
agely. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THAT  will  do,  Auntie  Tot,"  said  Pamela,  glancing  over 
a  heap  of  cut  roses  at  the  old  servant.  "I've  not  flowers 
enough  for  more." 

Auntie  Tot  set  down  her  tray  and  removed  from  it  to  the 
table  two  or  three  large  bowls  nearly  filled  with  water. 
That  done,  she  stood  a  moment  watching  her  mistress  as  she 
took  up  rose  after  rose,  stripped  a  leaf  here  and  there,  cut 
a  stalk  occasionally  and  cleverly  filled  the  vases.  She  was 
a  motherly  old  body  and  she  had  detected  the  note  of  weari- 
ness in  the  girl's  voice.  "Missus  sit  down,  and  let  Auntie 
Tot  finish,"  she  volunteered. 

Pamela  smiled.  Auntie  Tot's  method  of  flower  arrange- 
ment was  primitive,  and  not  particularly  helpful  since  it  all 
had  to  be  done  again  sooner  or  later.  But  she  was  grateful 
for  the  offer.  She  welcomed  the  affection  and  care  that 
underlay  it  more  than  at  one  time  she  would  ever  have 
thought  possible.  She  had  always  been  so  entirely  independ- 
ent ;  in  these  days  she  would  have  given  a  good  deal  to  have 
been  able  to  sit  still  and  let  another  take  control. 

So  she  smiled,  but  she  was  quite  firm.  "No,  thanks,  Tot," 
she  said.  "I'll  do  it.  Bustle  out  and  look  to  your  cooking 
now.  Baas  Urfurd  will  be  back  for  lunch." 

The  old  woman  took  up  her  tray  and  went  out.  'Bustle' 
was  not  however  the  word  for  her  departure.  Auntie  Tot 
had  her  own  views  as  to  the  necessity  for  hurry.  So  far  as 
they  went,  she  preferred  the  household  with  her  young  mis- 
tress away.  The  baas  took  his  meals  when  they  were  ready ; 
Pamela  would  have  them  when  she  was  ready.  Auntie  Tot 
had  no  doubt  as  to  which  made  for  comfort. 


352  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Left  to  herself,  Pamela  went  on  steadily  with  her  work, 
and  was  filling  the  last  bowl  when  a  sound  made  her  pause. 
She  listened  again.  It  was  unquestionably  the  sound  of  a 
motor.  At  Three  Springs,  set  in  its  woods,  you  could  hear 
nothing  until  a  visitor  was  almost  at  the  door,  but  when  you 
did  hear  a  car  there  was  no  question  as  to  where  it  was 
going. 

She  glanced  at  a  little  clock  on  a  side  table  and  decided 
that  it  was  impossibly  early  for  her  father.  Still  with  that 
long-stalked  white  rose  in  her  hands,  she  raised  her  head 
to  listen,  staring  across  the  lounge  and  out  through  the  open 
door  on  to  the  stoep.  The  car  stopped.  There  were  quick 
foot-falls.  A  man  came  into  view  ascending  the  low  rock 
steps  to  the  stoep  in  haste,  two  at  a  time.  Pamela  bent  over 
her  rose-bowl  and  with  a  steady  hand  set  her  last  rose  in 
position. 

"Pamela!" 

She  looked  up  quietly,  and  saw  him  framed  against  the 
sunlight  in  the  doorway.  "Hullo,  Chris,"  she  said  coolly. 
"Where  in  the  world  have  you  sprung  from?  Come  in." 
And  then  she  turned  again  to  her  roses,  stepping  back  a 
little  and  giving  them  a  last  glance,  her  head  a  bit  on  one 
side  that  she  might  decide  the  better  as  to  the  perfection 
of  their  arrangement. 

He  hesitated  perceptibly  at  his  reception.  Then  he  ad- 
vanced slowly,  in  contrast  to  his  quick  run  up  the  steps,  and 
placed  his  hat  and  gloves  on  a  convenient  chair.  "It's  good 
to  see  you  again,  Pam,"  he  said. 

She  pushed  her  rose-bowl  to  the  centre  of  the  table  and 
at  last  turned  wholly  from  it  to  her  visitor.  "Really,"  she 
said,  looking  at  him  out  of  narrowed  eyelids  with  the  sug- 
gestion of  a  smile  about  her  mouth. 

He  came  across  to  her,  half  ready  to  take  her  hand,  but 
she  did  not  offer  it.  "Yes,  it's  good,"  he  said.  "I  did  so 
hope  I'd  find  you  at  home.  Where's  your  father?" 

"In  Harding.  He'll  be  in  to  lunch.  I  thought  at  first  that 
it  was  his  car  I  heard,  but  we've  an  hour  or  so  to  wait.  Sit 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  353 

down,  won't  you.  Will  you  have  a  drink?  I'll  just  call 
Tot."  And  she  took  a  step  towards  the  door. 

"No,  please  don't,"  he  said  quickly.  "I  don't  want  one 
really.  But  I  will  sit  down,  if  1  may.  I'm  dog  tired." 

She  turned  back  and  sat  down  herself  in  a  lounge  chair 
by  the  table,  motioning  him  to  another  on  a  great  kaross 
before  the  big  fire-place  with  its  piled  but  unlit  logs.  As 
he  seated  himself,  she  leant  her  head  on  her  hand  and  looked 
at  him  closely.  She  noticed,  then,  that  he  had  shaved 
hastily,  that  his  tie  was  a  bit  awry,  and  that  altogether  he 
had  the  look  of  a  man  who  had  travelled  far  and  in  haste. 
"Where  have  you  come  from?"  she  asked  again. 

"Durban,"  he  said.    "This  morning." 

"This  morning?  My  dear  Chris!  Whatever  time  did 
you  start?" 

"I  don't  know.  A  little  before  sunrise  anyway.  I  couldn't 
sleep  a  wink,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  at  last  to  come  here. 
So  I  got  a  car  and  came." 

Pamela  said  nothing  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then,  slowly : 
"I  thought  you  would  have  been  travelling  East  rather  than 
West,  by  now." 

"East?"  queried  Chris.  Then  he  understood.  "I  know," 
he  said.  "So  did  I.  That's  why  I've  come." 

Pamela  settled  a  little  in  her  chair  and  moved  her  hand  a 
trifle  farther  forward  to  shield  her  eyes.  "Tell  me,"  she 
said. 

"I  want  to,  Pam.  I've  come  for  that  But  God  knows 
how  I  can." 

She  made  no  reply.  He  was  plainly  to  be  left  to  his  own 
devices.  He  realised  it,  and  leant  forward  in  his  chair  al- 
most as  if  to  see  her  face  better.  "Cecil  is  expecting  an- 
other baby."  he  said  abruptly. 

If  he  had  expected  her  to  show  surprise,  he  was  mistaken. 
She  sat  on  silently  for  appreciable  seconds.  Then  she 
moved,  letting  her  hand  fall  and  looking  up  at  the  picture 
of  herself  in  front  of  her,  over  the  fire-place.  "I  confess 
I  did  not  expect  that  development,"  she  said. 


354  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Something  in  her  tone  gave  the  man  a  clue  to  her  mistake. 
"Hugh  is  the  father,  of  course,"  he  said  quietly. 

Now,  at  any  rate,  she  was  startled.  She  glanced  swiftly 
at  him  and  her  thoughts  raced.  It  was  some  six  months 
since  she  had  parted  from  Cecil  last  at  Springfontein,  Cecil's 
letter  to  Chris  himself  in  her  hand.  She  had  thought  then 
.  .  .  Oh,  it  was  astounding !  "Hugh !"  she  exclaimed  invol- 
untarily. 

He  nodded.  "She  told  me  herself,"  he  said,  "and  what  is 
more,  I  think  I  understand." 

Once  more  Pamela  studied  him,  and  she  read  more  in  his 
face  than  she  had  done  before.  "Tell  me,  Chris,"  she  said 
again. 

His  eyes  fell  before  hers,  and  staring  at  the  kaross  at 
his  feet  between  them  he  began  his  tale.  "It's  all  very 
simple,"  he  said.  "She  has,  I  think,  made  no  false  or  hur- 
ried step  since — well,  since  you  were  at  Springfontein.  Yes, 
I  know  about  that  now.  She  wrote  to  me,  you  remember,  a 
short  letter,  non-committal,  kind,  loving  if  you  like,  but  non- 
committal. I  see  that  now.  She  said  I  was  to  wait.  That 
she  would  be  at  Durban  in  six  months,  and  would  write 
again  and  let  me  know  when  she  would  be  there.  We  could 
meet  then,  privately,  she  said,  and  talk  over  things." 

He  stopped  as  if  he  found  it  hard  to  go  on.  Pamela  en- 
couraged him  this  time.  "Yes  ?"  she  queried  kindly. 

"Well,  I  lived  through  those  six  months,  but  honestly, 
Pam,  they  were  hell.  I  won't  attempt  to  hide  it  from  you : 
I  wanted  her  with  all  my  heart.  This  week  she  wrote.  And 
yesterday  I  met  her  at  Durban." 

Again  he  stopped.  He  was  rather  like  a  schoolboy  jerk- 
ing out  an  awkward  confession,  Pamela  thought  even  then, 
It  was  unusual  for  Chris  to  be  hard  up  for  words.  "Go  on," 
she  prompted  again. 

He  leant  back  in  his  chair  and  lifted  tired  eyes,  first  to 
her  face  and  then  to  her  roses.  "Yes,  we  met,"  he  said. 
"It  was  very  wonderful ;  I  shall  never  forget  it.  You  know 
how  the  parade  ends  beyond  the  baths  and  how  the  bush 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  355 

comes  down  to  the  shore  there,  where  nobody  ever  seems  to 
go?  Well,  we  had  agreed  to  meet  there.  I  was  a  little  early, 
and  I  thought  I  would  walk  to  a  clump  of  bananas  I  could 
see  and  turn  back  to  meet  her  from  them.  I  thought  I  should 
see  her,  then,  coming  to  meet  me.  Oh  Pam,  I  was  so  sure 
that  I  had  the  very  tickets  in  my  pocket." 

He  made  a  sudden  dramatic  movement  and  pulled  an  en-« 
velope  from  his  jacket,  tossing  it  down  on  to  the  kaross  be- 
tween them,  where  it  lay,  a  small  white  momentous  thing 
to  Pamela  of  which  she  grew  almost  afraid  as  the  seconds 
went  by.  For  he  went  on  now,  speaking  rapidly  as  if  he 
had  got  rid  of  a  load. 

"You  must  know  all.  I  had  the  very  tickets — a  state- 
room in  a  Jap  liner  for  the  Far  East.  You  guessed  splen- 
didly. And  so  I  went  to  my  banana  clump,  thinking,  in  that 
silly  way  we  do  you  know,  that  I  would  actually  touch  them 
before  I  turned  and  saw  her  coming  to  meet  me  along  the 
beach.  It  is  all  so  real;  I  can  see  myself  trudging  still 
through  that  loose  sand  and  flicking  at  drift-wood  with  my 
stick.  I  reached  the  bananas — and  she  was  there.  It  seemed 
to  me  like  Fate  that  she  should  have  chosen  that  very  place 
to  wait  for  me.  It  was  as  if  it  were  all  arranged." 

"Will  you  ever  learn  realities,  I  wonder,  Chris?"  asked 
Pamela,  bitterly. 

His  glance  challenged  hers  swiftly.  "I  have,"  he  said 
shortly. 

But  her  scorn  had  checked  him.  Silence  fell  between  them 
again.  She  moved  restlessly  at  last,  conscious  that  this 
must  end.  "And  so?"  she  queried. 

"So,"  he  went  on,  in  that  new  tired  voice  of  his,  "I  took 
her  in  my  arms  and  she  suffered  me.  But  then  she  made  me 
sit  down.  She  made  me  tell  her  the  whole  story  of  our 
trek,  and  I  did;  I  hid  nothing.  And  then  I  asked  her  how 
soon  she  would  come  away  with  me." 

"And  she  told  you  that,  after  all,  she  preferred  her  old 
prosaic  sober-sided  Hugh.  Poor  Chris!" 

But  not  even  the  sarcasm  of  her  swift  guess  had  power  at 


356  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

that  moment  to  provoke  him.  "Oh  no,"  he  said,  "that  was 
not  what  she  said,  Pamela.  She  is  far  more  wonderful  than 
that.  You  and  I  together  are  not  a  patch  on  Cecily,  Pam. 
Who  would  have  thought  that  that  little  girl  .  .  ."  He 
broke  off  abruptly. 

Possibly  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  Pamela  was  jealous. 
"You  might  spare  me  the  rhapsodies,  Chris,"  she  said. 

The  man  moved  quickly,  and  she  thought  suddenly  that 
if  he  had  been  nearer  he  would  have  tried  to  take  her  hand. 
"Don't,  dear,"  he  exclaimed.  "Really,  I'm  past  that.  Pam, 
do  you  know  I  see  what  a  conceited  selfish  bore  and  fool 
I've  been  all  my  days.  She  has  shown  me  that.  It  makes 
no  difference  that  she  would  deny  it.  If  I  love  and  admire 
her  more  than  ever,  it  is  quite  differently  now.  But  I  owe 
it  to  her,  and  you  would  not  have  me  ungrateful." 

Pamela  was  more  moved  by  his  tone  than  she  cared  to 
show.  This  was  a  new  Chris  indeed,  but  she  wished  that 
somehow  he  did  not  make  her  long  to  take  his  head  in  her 
hands  and  pillow  it  on  her  breast.  "I'm  sorry,"  she  said, 
and  could  not  help  something  of  her  feeling  creeping  into 
her  voice. 

He  looked  up  steadily,  and  this  time  his  eyes  did  not  leave 
her  face.  "Thanks,"  he  said  humbly.  "You  see,  she  was 
really  very  wonderful,  Pamela.  She  didn't  preach  of  course, 
not  one  little  bit,  but  it  was  of  Ronnie  that  she  talked.  She 
said  that  he  was  more  alive  to  her  than  ever.  That  she  felt 
pledged,  bound,  to  him,  and  through  him  to  Hugh.  And 
she  just  said  that  she  had  come  to  see  that  we  could  not  do 
as  we  liked  with  life ;  that  it  was  much  bigger  than  we ;  that 
we  just  had  to  play  our  part  in  it  as  things  worked  out  for 
us;  and — and  leave  the  rest  to  God." 

The  girl  had  never  heard  him  use  the  Name  before  as  he 
used  it  then.  She  could  not  have  interrupted  him  now.  He 
went  on:  "We  parted  at  last,  for  good  in  that  way.  She 
went  back  to  her  life,  and  she  sent  me  back  to  mine.  I  went 
to  the  hotel,  but  all  night  I  couldn't  sleep  a  wink.  I  felt  down 
and  out,  Pam.  I  felt  I  couldn't  go  on  alone.  And  then  I 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  357 

thought  of  you,  and  I  came  straight  away  to  you,  dear. 
That  is  why  I'm  here  now,  to  ask  you  if  you  will  marry 
me,  Pamela." 

It  was  utterly  unexpected.  A  flood  of  feeling  surged 
through  her  so  tumultuously  that  it  hardly  seemed  possible 
that  she  could  sit  still  and  bear  it.  But  ultimately  an  un- 
welcomed  thought  dominated  the  rest.  She  could  not  help 
it.  "Leavings,  Chris,"  she  said  bitterly. 

It  was  as  if  a  blow  had  been  exchanged  between  them,  but 
Chris  took  it  manfully.  He  stood  up.  "I  know  it  looks  like 
that,  dear,"  he  said  bravely.  "I  deserve  all  that,  and  more. 

But— but "  (he  hesitated).  "Pam,"  he  burst  out  at 

last,  "it's  not  quite  that.  You  can  hardly  wonder  that  I 
loved  Cecil,  that  I  love  her  still.  Any  man  would.  She 
is  one  of  those  women  you  can't  explain — the  very  Woman 
God  once  made.  Yes,  she's  that,  though  she's  little  and 
young  and  natural  and — and  very  very  lovable.  But  she's 
mothered  something  in  me  into  life.  I  feel  almost  as  if,  if  I 
could,  I'd  hardly  dare  ask  her  to  marry  me  now.  I  feel  so 
little.  And  I  want  somebody,  Pam,  and  I  want  you.  You 
understand.  You've  no  delusions  about  me,  and  you've  said, 
after  all,  that  you  love  me  even  as  I  am.  And  I  want  your 
love,  dear ;  it  will  complete  me ;  it's  become  the  sunshine  that 
I  want  in  my  life.  I  want  it  more  than  I  can  say.  I  don't 
deserve  it;  never,  I  think,  has  any  woman  been  asked  to 
forgive  all  that  I  am  asking  you  to  forgive.  But  I  do  ask 
it.  I  put  all  that  I  am  at  your  feet.  Will  you  take  it,  Pam  ? 
As  my  wife?" 

The  girl  made  a  quick  movement.  "Words,"  she  said 
scornfully,  "words  that  I  expect  she  put  in  your  mouth." 

"Before  God,  I  swear  that  she  did  not,"  he  cried  quickly. 
"We  did  not  discuss  you,  Pamela.  If  she  said  anything 
about  you  at  all,  it  was  only  that  you  had  been  a  wonderful 
friend  to  her.  And  it's  something  of  that  that  I'm  asking. 
It  doesn't  seem  to  me  possible  that  you  can  love  me  much, 
but  if  you  would  just  take  me  over,  dear,  I'll  give  you  my 
love,  for  you've  won  it,  and  serve  you  all  your  life." 


358  THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING 

Once  again  the  girl  had  hidden  her  face  behind  her  hand, 
and  she  did  not  at  once  reply.  Then  she  spoke  evenly, 
slowly. 

"Do  you  realise  that  I  threw  myself  at  you,  Chris  ?  Have 
you  forgotten  all  that  passed  between  us?  It  seems  to  me 
that  in  the  years  to  come  you  might  hold  me  pretty  cheap. 
You  may  be  at  mine  now,  but  I  was  once  at  your  feet.  I 
was  not  even  asking  for  a  husband.  And  you  left  me  for 
Cecily  without  a  word,  to  come  back  now,  straight  from  her 
refusal,  to  ask  me  to  marry  you  across  that  very  envelope 
on  the  floor !" 

Outside  the  sun  flooded  the  flowers  and  trees,  but  the  man 
stared  at  them  unseeing.  "You  know  what  I  would  say, 
but  it  is  useless  for  me  to  say  it,"  he  said  huskily. 

She  made  no  reply  or  movement. 

"And  that  is  your  last  word,  Pamela?"  he  asked,  looking 
down  at  her. 

"Need  you  ask  again  ?"  she  retorted  bitterly. 

He  hesitated  a  moment  and  made  as  if  to  speak.  But  he 
choked  back  the  words.  Then  he  walked  across  the  room, 
took  up  his  hat  and  gloves,  and  came  back  in  her  direction  a 
step  or  two.  Still  she  had  not  moved. 

"You  are  quite  right,  dear,"  he  said.  "It  was  almost  an 
insult  to  ask  you.  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  will  go.  But  I 
did  not  mean  to  be  insolent.  I  love,  admire  and  respect  you 
with  all  my  heart,  Pamela.  And  I  am  very  grateful  to  you. 
Cecil  has  made  a  man  of  me,  I  hope,  but  you  have  shown 
me  how  to  take  hard  knocks.  Thank  you  for  that,  and — 
and  for  everything.  Good-bye.  God  give  you  great  happi- 
ness one  day,  dear,  for  you  deserve  it.  And  think  not  alto- 
gether unkindly  of  me,  if  you  can." 

He  waited,  uneasily,  for  a  moment.  But  she  made  no 
sign  at  all.  Then  he  turned  to  the  door.  "Good-bye,"  he 
said  again,  "and  thank  you."  She  heard  him  pass  heavily 
out. 

It  was  stupidity,  but  she  blinked  back  tears.  Through 
them,  she  saw  herself  over  the  fire-place  again,  and  found 


THE  MOTHER  OF  ALL  LIVING  359 

herself  momentarily  wondering  what  the  artist  had  seen  in 
that  long-ago  self  of  hers  that  he  had  so  painted  the  child's 
eyes.  She  dimly  remembered  the  sittings,  and  in  the  swift 
rush  of  a  few  seconds  she  saw  her  life  from  that  day  to  one 
other — why  should  her  thought  stop  at  it  ? — when  she  had  sat 
up  in  an  empty  railway  carriage  and  been  mocked  with  the 
sound  of  her  own  voice.  Was  it  to  mock  her  for  ever  ? 

How  or  why,  she  scarcely  knew,  but  she  was  on  her  feet. 
"Chris!"  she  cried. 

He  heard  upon  the  garden  steps.  His  heart  leapt  and  he 
turned  and  ran  back. 

She  was  standing  on  the  big  kaross,  her  hands  clasped  be- 
hind her  neck,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  eyes  alight  with 
mischief.  At  her  very  feet  lay  his  discarded  envelope.  "It's 
a  pity  to  waste  those  tickets,  Chris,"  she  said  laughingly. 


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